THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


EX  LIBRIS 
RUTH  McC.  MAITLAND 


UNDER  THE  DEODARS 


Copyright,  l&yy,  by  H.  M.  (Jaluweli  co. 
"  The  brute  threw  up  her  head  and  went  down  with  a  scream." 


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CONTENTS 

PAGB 

THE  EDUCATION  OF  OTIS  YEERE     ...      7 

AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 45 

A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY        .        .         .  -57 

THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 79 

A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN  .        .        .        .97 

ONLY  A  SUBALTERN  .  .  .  .  .131 
IN  THE  MATTER  OF  A  PRIVATE  .  .  .157 
THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS  OF  PAGETT,  M.P.  .  175 


1C430C1 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  OTIS  YEERE 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  OTIS  YEERE 

I 

In  the  pleasant  orchard-closes 

"  God  bless  all  our  gains,"  say  we; 

But  "  May  God  bless  all  our  losses," 
Better  suits  with  our  degree. 

—  The  Lost  Bower. 

THIS  is  the  history  of  a  failure;  but  the  woman 
who  failed  said  that  it  might  be  an  instruc- 
tive tale  to  put  into  print  for  the  benefit  of  the 
younger  generation.  The  younger  generation 
does  not  want  instruction,  being  perfectly  will- 
ing to  instruct  if  any  one  will  listen  to  it.  None 
the  less,  here  begins  the  story  where  every  right- 
minded  story  should  begin,  that  is  to  say  at 
Simla,  where  all  things  begin  and  many  come  to 
an  evil  end. 

The  mistake  was  due  to  a  very  clever  woman 
making  a  blunder  and  not  retrieving  it.  Men  are 
licensed  to  stumble,  but  a  clever  woman's  mistake 
is  outside  the  regular  course  of  Nature  and 
Providence;  since  all  good  people  know  that  a 
woman  is  the  only  infallible  thing  in  this  world, 
except  Government  Paper  of  the  '79  issue,  bear- 
9 


IO  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

ing  interest  at  four  and  a  half  per  cent.  Yet,  we 
have  to  remember  that  six  consecutive  days  of  re- 
hearsing the  leading  part  of  The  Fallen  Angel,  at 
the  New  Gaiety  Theatre  where  the  plaster  is  not 
yet  properly  dry,  might  have  brought  about  an 
unhingement  of  spirits  which,  again,  might  have 
led  to  eccentricities. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  came  to  "The  Foundry"  to 
tiffin  with  Mrs.  Mallowe,  her  one  bosom  friend, 
for  she  was  in  no  sense  "a  woman's  woman." 
And  it  was  a  woman's  tiffin,  the  door  shut  to  all 
the  world ;  and  they  both  talked  chiffons,  which 
is  French  for  Mysteries. 

"I've  enjoyed  an  interval  of  sanity,"  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  announced,  after  tiffin  was  over  and 
the  two  were  comfortably  settled  in  the  little 
writing-room  that  opened  out  of  Mrs.  Mallowe's 
bedroom. 

"  My  dear  girl,  what  has  he  done  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Mallowe,  sweetly.  It  is  noticeable  that  ladies  of 
a  certain  age  call  each  other  "  dear  girl,"  just  as 
commissioners  of  twenty-eight  years'  standing 
address  their  equals  in  the  Civil  List  as  "my 
boy." 

"There's  no  he  in  the  case.  Who  am  I  that 
an  imaginary  man  should  be  always  credited  to 
me  ?  Am  I  an  Apache  ?  " 

"No,  dear,  but  somebody's  scalp  is  generally 
drying  at  your  wigwam-door.  Soaking,  rather." 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  II 

This  was  an  allusion  to  the  Hawley  Boy,  who 
was  in  the  habit  of  riding  all  across  Simla  in  the 
Rains,  to  call  on  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  That  lady 
laughed. 

"For  my  sins,  the  Aide  at  Tyrconnel  last  night 
told  me  off  to  The  Mussuck.  Hsh !  Don't  laugh. 
One  of  my  most  devoted  admirers.  When  the 
duff  came — some  one  really  ought  to  teach  them 
to  make  puddings  at  Tyrconnel — The  Mussuck 
was  at  liberty  to  attend  to  me." 

"Sweet  soul!  1  know  his  appetite,"  said  Mrs. 
Mallowe.  "Did  he,  oh  did  he,  begin  his  woo- 
ing?" 

"By  a  special  mercy  of  Providence,  no.  He 
explained  his  importance  as  a  Pillar  of  the  Em- 
pire. I  didn't  laugh." 

"  Lucy,  I  don't  believe  you." 

"Ask  Captain  Sangar;  he  was  on  the  other 
side.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  The  Mussuck 
dilated." 

"I  think  I  can  see  him  doing  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Mallowe,  pensively,  scratching  her  fox-terrier's 
ears. 

"I  was  properly  impressed.  Most  properly. 
I  yawned  openly.  '  Strict  supervision,  and  play 
them  off  one  against  the  other, '  said  The  Mussuck, 
shoveling  down  his  ice  by  tureenfuls,  I  assure 
you.  '  That,  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  is  the  secret  of 
our  Government.'" 


12  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

Mrs.  Mallowe  laughed  long  and  merrily. 
"  And  what  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  know  me  at  loss  for  an  answer 
yet?  I  said:  'So  I  have  observed  in  my  deal- 
ings with  you.'  The  Mussuck  swelled  with 
pride.  He  is  coming  to  call  on  me  to-morrow. 
The  Hawley  Boy  is  coming  too." 

'"Strict  supervision  and  play  them  off  one 
against  the  other.  That,  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  is  the 
secret  of  our  Government.'  And  I  dare  say  if  we 
could  get  to  The  Mussuck's  heart,  we  should 
find  that  he  considers  himself  a  man  or  the 
world." 

"As  he  is  of  the  other  two  things.  I  like  The 
Mussuck,  and  I  won't  have  you  call  him  names. 
He  amuses  me." 

"He  has  reformed  you,  too,  by  what  appears. 
Explain  the  interval  of  sanity,  and  hit  Tim  on  the 
nose  with  the  paper-cutter,  please.  That  dog  is 
too  fond  of  sugar.  Do  you  take  milk  in  yours  ?" 

"No,  thanks.  Polly,  I'm  wearied  of  this  life. 
It's  hollow." 

"Turn  religious,  then.  I  always  said  that 
Rome  would  be  your  fate." 

"Only  exchanging  half  a  dozen  attaches  in  red 
for  one  in  black,  and  if  I  fasted,  the  wrinkles 
would  come,  and  never,  never  go.  Has  it  ever 
struck  you,  dear,  that  I'm  getting  old  ?  " 

"Thanks    for   your  courtesy.    I'll  return  it 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  13 

Ye-es,  we  are  both  not  exactly — how  shall  I  put 
it?" 

"  What  we  have  been.  '  I  feel  it  in  my 
bones,'  as  Mrs.  Crossley  says.  Polly,  I've  wasted 
my  life." 

"As  how?" 

"Never  mind  how.  I  feel  it.  I  want  to  be  a 
Power  before  I  die." 

"Be  a  Power  then.  You've  wits  enough  for 
anything — and  beauty  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  pointed  a  teaspoon  straight  at 
her  hostess.  "  Polly,  if  you  heap  compliments 
on  me  like  this,  I  shall  cease  to  believe  that  you're 
a  woman.  Tell  me  how  I  am  to  be  a  Power." 

"Inform  The  Mussuck  that  he  is  the  most 
fascinating  and  slimmest  man  in  Asia,  and  he'll 
tell  you  anything  and  everything  you  please." 

"  Bother  The  Mussuck!  I  mean  an  intellectual 
Power — not  a  gas-power.  Polly,  I'm  going  to 
start  a  salon." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  turned  lazily  on  the  sofa  and 
rested  her  head  on  her  hand.  "Hear  the  words 
of  the  Preacher,  the  son  of  Baruch,"  she  said. 

"  Will  you  talk  sensibly  ?  " 

"  I  will,  dear,  for  I  see  that  you  are  going  to 
make  a  mistake." 

"  I  never  made  a  mistake  in  my  life — at  least, 
never  one  that  I  couldn't  explain  away  afterward." 

"Going  to  make  a  mistake/'  went  on  Mrs. 


14  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

Mallowe,  composedly.  "  It  is  impossible  to  start 
a  salon  in  Simla.  A  bar  would  be  much  more  to 
the  point." 

"  Perhaps,  but  why  ?    It  seems  so  easy." 

"Just  what  makes  it  so  difficult.  How  many 
clever  women  are  there  in  Simla  ?" 

"Myself  and  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  Modest  woman!  Mrs.  Feardon  would  thank 
you  for  that.  And  how  many  clever  men  ?  " 

"Oh  —  er — hundreds,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
vaguely. 

"What  a  fatal  blunder!  Not  one.  They  are 
all  bespoke  by  the  Government.  Take  my  hus- 
band, for  instance.  Jack  was  a  clever  man, 
though  I  say  so  who  shouldn't.  Government  has 
eaten  him  up.  All  his  ideas  and  powers  of  con- 
versation— he  really  used  to  be  a  good  talker, 
even  to  his  wife,  in  the  old  days — are  taken  from 
him  by  this — this  kitchen-sink  of  a  Government. 
That's  the  case  with  every  man  up  here  who  is  at 
work.  I  don't  suppose  a  Russian  convict  under 
the  knout  is  able  to  amuse  the  rest  of  his  gang; 
and  all  our  men-folk  here  are  gilded  convicts." 

"  But  there  are  scores  " — 

"  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say.  Scores  of 
idle  men  up  on  leave.  I  admit  it,  but  they  are  all 
of  two  objectionable  sets.  The  Civilian  who'd 
be  delightful  if  he  had  the  military  man's  knowl- 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  15 

edge  of  the  world  and  style,  and  the  military  man 
who'd  be  adorable  if  he  had  the  Civilian's  cul- 
ture." 

"Detestable  word!  Have  Civilians  culchaw  ? 
I  never  studied  the  breed  deeply." 

"Don't  make  fun  of  Jack's  service.  Yes. 
They're  like  the  teapoys  in  the  Lakka  Bazar — 
good  material  but  not  polished.  They  can't  help 
themselves,  poor  dears.  A  Civilian  only  begins 
to  be  tolerable  after  he  has  knocked  about  the 
world  for  fifteen  years." 

"  And  a  military  man  ?  " 

"  When  he  has  had  the  same  amount  of  serv- 
ice. The  young  of  both  species  are  horrible. 
You  would  have  scores  of  them  in  your  salon." 

"I  would  not!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  fiercely. 
"  I  would  tell  the  bearer  to  darwa^a  band  them. 
I'd  put  their  own  colonels  and  commissioners  at 
the  door  to  turn  them  away.  I'd  give  them  to 
the  Topsham  girl  to  play  with." 

"The  Topsham  girl  would  be  grateful  for  the 
gift.  But  to  go  back  to  the  salon.  Allowing 
that  you  had  gathered  all  your  men  and  women 
together,  what  would  you  do  with  them  ?  Make 
them  talk  ?  They  would  all  with  one  accord  be- 
gin to  flirt.  Your  salon  would  become  a  glorified 
Peliti's — a  'Scandal  Point'  by  lamp-light." 

"There's  a  certain  amount  of  wisdom  in  that 
view." 


1 6  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

"There's  all  the  wisdom  in  the  world  in  it. 
Surely,  twelve  Simla  seasons  ought  to  have  taught 
you  that  you  can't  focus  anything  in  India;  and  a 
salon,  to  be  any  good  at  all,  must  be  permanent. 
In  two  seasons  your  roomful  would  be  scattered 
all  over  Asia.  We  are  only  little  bits  of  dirt  on 
the  hillsides — here  one  day  and  blown  down  the 
hhud  the  next.  We  have  lost  the  art  of  talking 
— at  least  our  men  have.  We  have  no  cohe- 
sion " — 

"George  Eliot  in  the  flesh,'*  interpolated  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  wickedly. 

"And  collectively,  my  dear  scoffer,  we,  men 
and  women  alike,  have  no  influence.  Come  into 
the  veranda  and  look  at  the  Mall! " 

The  two  looked  down  on  the  now  rapidly  fill- 
ing road,  for  all  Simla  was  abroad  to  steal  a  stroll 
between  a  shower  and  a  fog. 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  fix  that  river  ?  Look! 
There's  The  Mussuck — head  of  goodness  knows 
what.  He  is  a  power  in  the  land,  though  he  does 
eat  like  a  costermonger.  There's  Colonel  Blone, 
and  General  Grucher,  and  Sir  Dugald  Delane,  and 
Sir  Henry  Haughton,  and  Mr.  Jellalatty.  All 
Heads  of  Departments,  and  all  powerful." 

"And  all  my  fervent  admirers,"  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  piously.  "Sir  Henry  Haughton  raves 
about  me.  But  go  on/' 

41  One  by  one,  these  men  are  worth  something, 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  17 

Collectively,  they're  just  a  mob  of  Anglo-Indians. 
Who  cares  for  what  Anglo-Indians  say?  Your 
salon  won't  weld  the  Departments  together  and 
make  you  mistress  of  India,  dear.  And  these 
creatures  won't  talk  administrative  'shop'  in  a 
crowd — your  salon — because  they  are  so  afraid  of 
the  men  in  the  lower  ranks  overhearing  it.  They 
have  forgotten  what  of  Literature  and  Art  they 
ever  knew,  and  the  women  " — 

"Can't  talk  about  anything  except  the  last 
Gymkhana,  or  the  sins  of  their  last  nurse.  I  was 
calling  on  Mrs.  Derwills  this  morning." 

"  You  admit  that  ?  They  can  talk  to  the  sub- 
alterns though,  and  the  subalterns  can  talk  to 
them.  Your  salon  would  suit  their  views  admir- 
ably, if  you  respected  the  religious  prejudices  of 
the  country  and  provided  plenty  of  kala  juggahs." 

"Plenty  of  kala  juggahs.  Oh  my  poor  little 
idea !  Kala  juggahs  in  a  salon  !  But  who  made 
you  so  awfully  clever  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I've  tried  myself;  or  perhaps  I  know 
a  woman  who  has.  I  have  preached  and  ex- 
pounded the  whole  matter  and  the  conclusion 
thereof  " — 

"You  needn't  go  on.  'Is  Vanity.'  Polly,  I 
thank  you.  These  vermin"  —  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
waved  her  hand  from  the  veranda  to  two  men  in 
the  crowd  below  who  had  raised  their  hats  to  her 
— "these  vermin  shall  not  rejoice  in  a  new  Scan- 


1 8  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

dal  Point  or  an  extra  Peliti's.  I  will  abandon  the 
notion  of  a  salon.  It  did  seem  so  tempting, 
though.  But  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  must  do  some- 
thing." 

"  Why  ?    Are  not  Abana  and  Pharphar  " — 

"Jack  has  made  you  nearly  as  bad  as  himself! 
I  want  to,  of  course.  I'm  tired  of  everything 
and  everybody,  from  a  moonlight  picnic  at  See- 
pee  to  the  blandishments  of  The  Mussuck." 

"Yes — that  comes,  too,  sooner  or  later.  Have 
you  nerve  enough  to  make  your  bow  yet  ?" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  mouth  shut  grimly.  Then  she 
laughed.  "I  think  I  see  myself  doing  it.  Big 
pink  placards  on  the  Mall :  '  Mrs.  Hauksbee ! 
Positively  her  last  appearance  on  any  stage!  This 
is  to  give  notice!'  No  more  dances;  no  more 
rides;  no  more  luncheons;  no  more  theatricals 
with  supper  to  follow;  no  more  sparring  with 
one's  dearest,  dearest  friend;  no  more  fencing 
with  an  inconvenient  man  who  hasn't  wit  enough 
to  clothe  what  he's  pleased  to  call  his  sentiments 
in  passable  speech;  no  more  parading  of  The 
Mussuck  while  Mrs.  Tarkass  calls  all  round  Simla, 
spreading  horrible  stories  about  me !  No  more  of 
anything  that  is  thoroughly  wearying,  abominable 
and  detestable,  but,  all  the  same,  makes  life 
worth  the  having.  Yes!  I  see  it  all!  Don't  in- 
terrupt, Polly,  I'm  inspired.  A  mauve  and  white 
striped  '  cloud '  round  my  excellent  shoulders,  a 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  19 

seat  in  the  fifth  row  of  the  Gaiety,  and  both 
horses  sold.  Delightful  vision!  A  comfortable 
armchair,  situated  in  three  different  draughts,  at 
every  ballroom;  and  nice,  large,  sensible  shoes 
for  all  the  couples  to  stumble  over  as  they  go  into 
the  veranda!  Then  at  supper.  Can't  you  imag- 
ine the  scene?  The  greedy  mob  gone  away. 
Reluctant  subaltern,  pink  all  over  like  a  newly- 
powdered  baby, — they  really  ought  to  tan  sub- 
alterns before  they  are  exported,  Polly — sent  back 
by  the  hostess  to  do  his  duty.  Slouches  up  to 
me  across  the  room,  tugging  at  a  glove  two  sizes 
too  large  for  him — I  hate  a  man  who  wears 
gloves  like  overcoats — and  trying  to  look  as  if 
he'd  thought  of  it  from  the  first.  '  May  I  ah- 
have  the  pleasure  'f  takin'  you  'nt'  supper?' 
Then  I  get  up  with  a  hungry  smile.  Just  like 
this." 

"  Lucy,  how  can  you  be  so  absurd  ?" 
"  And  sweep  out  on  his  arm.  So !  After  sup- 
per I  shall  go  away  early,  you  know,  because  I 
shall  be  afraid  of  catching  cold.  No  one  will 
look  for  my  'rickshaw.  Mine,  so  please  you !  I 
shall  stand,  always  with  that  mauve  and  white 
'  cloud '  over  my  head,  while  the  wet  soaks  into 
my  dear,  old,  venerable  feet  and  Tom  swears  and 
shouts  for  the  mem-sahib's  gharri.  Then  home 
to  bed  at  half-past  eleven !  Truly  excellent  life 
— helped  out  by  the  visits  of  the  Padri,  just  fresh 


2O  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

from  burying  somebody  down  below  there."  She 
pointed  through  the  pines,  toward  the  Cemetery, 
and  continued  with  vigorous  dramatic  gesture  — 

"  Listen!  I  see  it  all — down,  down  even  to  the 
stays!  Such  stays!  Six-eight  a  pair,  Polly,  with 
red  flannel — or  list  is  it  ? — that  they  put  into  the 
tops  of  those  fearful  things.  I  can  draw  you  a 
picture  of  them." 

"  Lucy,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  go  waving 
your  arms  about  in  that  idiotic  manner!  Recol- 
lect, every  one  can  see  you  from  the  Mall." 

"Let  them  see!  They'll  think  I  am  rehearsing 
for  The  Fallen  Angel.  Look !  There's  The  Mus- 
suck.  How  badly  he  rides.  There!" 

She  blew  a  kiss  to  the  venerable  Indian  admin- 
istrator with  infinite  grace. 

"  Now,"  she  continued,  "  he'll  be  chaffed  about 
that  at  the  Club  in  the  delicate  manner  those 
brutes  of  men  affect,  and  the  Hawley  Boy  will 
tell  me  all  about  it — softening  the  details  for  fear 
of  shocking  me.  That  boy  is  too  good  to  live, 
Polly.  I've  serious  thoughts  of  recommending 
him  to  throw  up  his  Commission  and  go  into  the 
Church.  In  his  present  frame  of  mind  he  would 
obey  me.  Happy,  happy  child!7' 

"Never  again,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  with  an 
affectation  of  indignation,  "  shall  you  tiffin  here ! 
'  Lucindy,  your  behavior  is  scand'lus.'  " 

"All  your  fault,"  retorted  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  '"for 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  21 

suggesting  such  a  thing  as  my  abdication.  No! 
Jamais-nevairel  I  will  act,  dance,  ride,  frivol, 
talk  scandal,  dine  out,  and  appropriate  the  legiti- 
mate captives  of  any  woman  I  choose,  until  I 
d-r-r-rop,  or  a  better  woman  than  I  puts  me  to 
shame  before  all  Simla, — and  it's  dust  and  ashes 
in  my  mouth  while  I'm  doing  it!  " 

She  swept  into  the  drawing-room.  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe  followed  and  put  an  arm  round  her  waist. 

"I'm  not!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  defiantly,  rum- 
maging for  her  handkerchief.  "  I've  been  dining 
out  the  last  ten  nights,  and  rehearsing  in  the 
afternoon.  You'd  be  tired  yourself.  It's  only 
because  I'm  tired." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  did  not  offer  Mrs.  Hauksbee  any 
pity  or  ask  her  to  lie  down,  but  gave  her  another 
cup  of  tea,  and  went  on  with  the  talk. 

"  I've  been  through  that  too,  dear,"  she  said. 

"I  remember,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  a  gleam  of 
fun  on  her  face.  "  In  '84,  wasn't  it  ?  You  went 
out  a  great  deal  less  next  season." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  smiled  in  a  superior  and  Sphinx- 
like  fashion. 

"  I  became  an  Influence,"  said  she. 

"Good  gracious,  child,  you  didn't  join  the 
Theosophists  and  kiss  Buddha's  big  toe,  did  you  ? 
I  tried  to  get  into  their  set  once,  but  they  cast  me 
out  for  a  sceptic — without  a  chance  of  improving 
my  poor  little  mind,  too." 


22  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

"No,  I  didn't  Theosophilander.    Jack  says"  — 

"Never  mind  Jack.  What  a  husband  says  is 
known  before.  What  did  you  do  ?  " 

"I  made  a  lasting  impression." 

"  So  have  I  —  for  four  months.  But  that  didn't 
console  me  in  the  least.  I  hated  the  man.  Will 
you  stop  smiling  in  that  inscrutable  way  and  tell 
me  what  you  mean  ?  " 

Mrs.  Mallowe  told 

****** 

"And  —  you  —  mean—  to  —  say  that  it  is  abso- 
lutely Platonic  on  both  sides  ?  " 

"Absolutely,  or  I  should  never  have  taken  it 
up." 

"And  his  last  promotion  was  due  to  you?" 

Mrs.  Mallowe  nodded. 

"And  you  warned  him  against  the  Topsham 
girl?" 

Another  nod. 

"And  told  him  of  Sir  Dugald  Delane's  private 
memo  about  him  ?  " 

A  third  nod. 


"What  a  question  to  ask  a  woman!  Because 
it  amused  me  at  first.  I  am  proud  of  my  prop- 
erty now.  If  I  live,  he  shall  continue  to  be  suc- 
cessful. Yes,  I  will  put  him  upon  the  straight 
road  to  Knighthood,  and  everything  else  that  a 
man  values.  The  rest  depends  upon  himself." 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  23 

"  Polly,  you  are  a  most  extraordinary  woman." 

"Not  in  the  least.  I'm  concentrated,  that's  all. 
You  diffuse  yourself,  dear;  and  though  all  Simla 
knows  your  skill  in  managing  a  team  "  — 

"  Can't  you  choose  a  prettier  word  ?" 

"  Team,  of  half  a  dozen,  from  The  Mussuck  to 
the  Hawley  Boy,  you  gain  nothing  by  it.  Not 
even  amusement." 

"And  you?" 

"Try  my  recipe.  Take  a  man,  not  a  boy, 
mind,  but  an  almost  mature,  unattached  man, 
and  be  his  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend.  You'll 
find  it  the  most  interesting  occupation  that  you 
ever  embarked  on.  It  can  be  done — you  needn't 
look  like  that — because  I've  done  it." 

"  There's  an  element  of  risk  about  it  that  makes 
the  notion  attractive.  I'll  get  such  a  man  and 
say  to  him,  '  Now,  understand  that  there  must  be 
no  flirtation.  Do  exactly  what  I  tell  you,  profit 
by  my  instruction  and  counsels,  and  all  will  yet 
be  well.'  Is  that  the  idea  ?" 

"More  or  less,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  with  an 
unfathomable  smile.  "But  be  sure  he  under- 
stands." 


24  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 


II 

Dribble-dribble — trickle-trickle — 

What  a  lot  of  raw  dust ! 
My  dollie's  had  an  accident 

And  out  came  all  the  sawdust ! 

— Nursery  Rhyme. 

So  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  in  "The  Foundry"  which 
overlooks  Simla  Mall,  sat  at  the  feet  of  Mrs. 
Mallowe  and  gathered  wisdom.  The  end  of  the 
Conference  was  the  Great  Idea  upon  which  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  so  plumed  herself. 

"I  warn  you,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  beginning 
to  repent  of  her  suggestion,  "that  the  matter  is 
not  half  so  easy  as  it  looks.  Any  woman — even 
the  Topsham  girl — can  catch  a  man,  but  very, 
very  few  know  how  to  manage  him  when 
caught." 

"My  child,"  was  the  answer,  "I've  been  a 
female  St.  Simon  Stylites  looking  down  upon 
men  for  these — these  years  past.  Ask  The  Mus- 
suck  whether  I  can  manage  them." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  departed  humming,  "I'll go  to 
him  and  say  to  him  in  manner  'most  ironical." 
Mrs.  Mallowe  laughed  to  herself.  Then  she  grew 
suddenly  sober.  "  I  wonder  whether  I've  done 
well  in  advising  that  amusement?  Lucy's  a 
clever  woman,  but  a  thought  too  careless." 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  25 

A  week  later,  the  two  met  at  a  Monday  Pop. 
"Well?"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe. 

"I've  caught  him! "said  Mrs.  Hauksbee;  her 
eyes  were  dancing  with  merriment. 

"  Who  is  it,  mad  woman  ?  I'm  sorry  I  ever 
spoke  to  you  about  it." 

"  Look  between  the  pillars.  In  the  third  row; 
fourth  from  the  end.  You  can  see  his  face  now. 
Look!" 

"  Otis  Yeere  !  Of  all  the  improbable  and  im- 
possible people!  I  don't  believe  you." 

"Hsh!  Wait  till  Mrs.  Tarkass  begins  mur- 
dering Milton  Wellings;  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
it.  S-s-ssf  That  woman's  voice  always  re- 
minds me  of  an  Underground  train  coming  into 
Earl's  Court  with  the  breaks  on.  Now  listen. 
It  is  really  Otis  Yeere." 

"So  I  see,  but  does  it  follow  that  he  is  your 
property!" 

"He  is!  By  right  of  trove.  I  found  him, 
lonely  and  unbefriended,  the  very  next  night 
after  our  talk,  at  the  Dugald  Delane's  burra- 
hhana.  I  liked  his  eyes,  and  I  talked  to  him. 
Next  day  he  called.  Next  day  we  went  for  a 
ride  together,  and  to-day  he's  tied  to  my  'rick- 
5&tfzy-wheels  hand  and  foot.  You'll  see  when 
the  concert's  over.  He  doesn't  know  I'm  here 
yet." 

"Thank  goodness  you  haven't  chosen  a  boy. 


26  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him,  assuming 
that  you've  got  him  ?  " 

"  Assuming,  indeed!  Does  a  woman — do  / — 
ever  make  a  mistake  in  that  sort  of  thing? 
First " — Mrs.  Hauksbee  ticked  off  the  items  osten- 
tatiously on  her  little  gloved  fingers — "  First,  my 
dear,  I  shall  dress  him  properly.  At  present  his 
raiment  is  a  disgrace,  and  he  wears  a  dress- 
shirt  like  a  crumpled  sheet  of  the  Pioneer. 
Secondly,  after  I  have  made  him  presentable,  I 
shall  form  his  manners — his  morals  are  above  re- 
proach." 

"  You  seem  to  have  discovered  a  great  deal 
about  him  considering  the  shortness  of  your  ac- 
quaintance." 

"Surely  you  ought  to  know  that  the  first  proof 
a  man  gives  of  his  interest  in  a  woman  is  by  talk- 
ing to  her  about  his  own  sweet  self.  If  the 
woman  listens  without  yawning,  he  begins  to 
like  her.  If  she  flatters  the  animal's  vanity,  he 
ends  by  adoring  her." 

"In  some  cases." 

"  Never  mind  the  exceptions.  I  know  which 
one  you  are  thinking  of.  Thirdly,  and  lastly, 
after  he  is  polished  and  made  pretty,  I  shall,  as 
you  said,  be  his  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend, 
and  he  shall  become  a  success — as  great  a  success 
as  your  friend.  I  always  wondered  how  that 
man  got  on.  Did  The  Mussuck  come  to  you 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  27 

with  the  Civil  List  and,  dropping  on  one  knee — 
no,  two  knees,  d  la  Gibbon — hand  it  to  you  and 
say,  'Adorable  angel,  choose  your  friend's  ap- 
pointment'?" 

"  Lucy,  your  long  experiences  of  the  Military 
Department  have  demoralized  you.  One  doesn't 
do  that  sort  of  thing  on  the  Civil  Side." 

"No  disrespect  meant  to  Jack's  Service,  rny 
dear.  I  only  asked  for  information.  Give  me 
three  months,  and  see  what  changes  I  shall  work 
in  my  prey." 

"  Go  your  own  way  since  you  must.  But  I'm 
sorry  that  I  was  weak  enough  to  suggest  the 
amusement." 

"  '  I  am  all  discretion,  and  may  be  trusted  to 
an  in-fin-ite  extent,'  "  quoted  Mrs.  Hauksbee  from 
The  Fallen  Angel;  and  the  conversation  ceased 
with  Mrs.  Tarkass's  last,  long-drawn  war- 
whoop. 

Her  bitterest  enemies — and  she  had  many — 
could  hardly  accuse  Mrs.  Hauksbee  of  wasting 
her  time.  Otis  Yeere  was  one  of  those  wander- 
ing "dumb"  characters,  foredoomed  through 
life  to  be  nobody's  property.  Ten  years  in  Her 
Majesty's  Bengal  Civil  Service,  spent,  for  the  most 
part,  in  undesirable  Districts,  had  given  him 
little  to  be  proud  of,  and  nothing  to  bring  confi- 
dence. Old  enough  to  have  lost  the  first  fine 
careless  rapture  that  showers  on  the  immature 


28  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

'Stunt  imaginary  Commissionerships  and  Stars, 
and  sends  him  into  the  collar  with  coltish  earnest- 
ness and  abandon ;  too  young  to  be  yet  able  to 
look  back  upon  the  progress  he  had  made,  and 
thank  Providence  that  under  the  conditions  of  the 
day  he  had  corns  even  so  far,  he  stood  upon  the 
dead-centre  of  his  career.  And  when  a  man  stands 
still,  he  feels  the  slightest  impulse  from  without. 
Fortune  had  ruled  that  Otis  Yeere  should  be,  for 
the  first  part  of  his  service,  one  of  the  rank  and 
file  who  are  ground  up  in  the  wheels  of  the  Ad- 
ministration; losing  heart  and  soul,  and  mind 
and  strength,  in  the  process.  Until  steam  re- 
places manual  power  in  the  working  of  the  Em- 
pire, there  must  always  be  this  percentage — 
must  always  be  the  men  who  are  used  up, 
expended,  in  the  mere  mechanical  routine.  For 
these  promotion  is  far  off  and  the  mill-grind  of 
every  day  very  instant.  The  Secretariats  know 
them  only  by  name;  they  are  not  the  picked  men 
of  the  Districts  with  Divisions  and  Collectorates 
awaiting  them.  They  are  simply  the  rank  and 
file — the  food  for  fever — sharing  with  the  ryot 
and  the  plough-bullock  the  honor  of  being  the 
plinth  on  which  the  State  rests.  The  older  ones 
have  lost  their  aspirations ;  the  younger  are  put- 
ting theirs  aside  with  a  sigh.  Both  learn  to  en- 
dure patiently  until  the  end  of  the  day.  Twelve 
years  in  the  rank  and  file,  men  say,  will  sap  the 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  29 

hearts  of  the  bravest  and  dull  the  wits  of  the 
most  keen. 

Out  of  this  life  Otis  Yeere  had  fled  for  a  few 
months ;  drifting,  in  the  hope  of  a  little  mascu- 
line society,  into  Simla.  When  his  leave  was 
over  he  would  return  to  his  swampy,  sour-green, 
under-manned  Bengal  district;  to  the  native  As- 
sistant, the  native  Doctor,  the  native  Magistrate, 
the  steaming,  sweltering  Station,  the  ill-kempt 
City,  and  the  undisguised  insolence  of  the 
Municipality  that  babbled  away  the  lives  of  men. 
Life  was  cheap,  however.  The  soil  spawned 
humanity,  as  ,it  bred  frogs  in  the  Rains,  and  the 
gap  of  the  sickness  of  one  season  was  filled  to 
overflowing  by  the  fecundity  of  the  next.  Otis 
was  unfeignedly  thankful  to  lay  down  his  work 
for  a  little  while  and  escape  from  the  seething, 
whining,  weakly  hive,  impotent  to  help  itself, 
but  strong  in  its  power  to  cripple,  thwart,  and 
annoy  the  sunken-eyed  man,  who,  by  official 
irony,  was  said  to  be  "  in  charge  "  of  it. 

"I  knew  there  were  women-dowdies  in  Ben- 
gal. They  come  up  here  sometimes.  But  I 
didn't  know  that  there  were  men-dowds,  too." 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  it  occurred  to  Otis 
Yeere  that  his  clothes  wore  the  mark  of  the  ages. 
It  will  be  seen  that  his  friendship  with  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  had  made  great  strides. 


3O  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

As  that  lady  truthfully  says,  a  man  is  never  so 
happy  as  when  he  is  talking  about  himself. 
From  Otis  Yeere's  lips  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  before 
long,  learned  everything  that  she  wished  to  know 
about  the  subject  of  her  experiment:  learned  what 
manner  of  life  he  had  led  in  what  she  vaguely 
called  "those  awful  cholera  districts";  learned, 
too,  but  this  knowledge  came  later,  what  manner 
of  life  he  had  purposed  to  lead  and  what  dreams 
he  had  dreamed  in  the  year  of  grace  '77,  before 
the  reality  had  knocked  the  heart  out  of  him. 
Very  pleasant  are  the  shady  bridle-paths  round 
Prospect  Hill  for  the  telling  of  such  confidences. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee  to  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe.  "Not  yet.  I  must  wait  until  the  man  is 
properly  dressed,  at  least.  Great  Heavens,  is  it 
possible  that  he  doesn't  know  what  an  honor  it 
is  to  be  taken  up  by  Me  I " 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  did  not  reckon  false  modesty 
as  one  of  her  failings. 

"Always  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee!"  murmured 
Mrs.  Mallowe,  with  her  sweetest  smile,  to  Otis. 
"  Oh  you  men,  you  men!  Here  are  our  Punjabis 
growling  because  you've  monopolized  the  nicest 
woman  in  Simla.  They'll  tear  you  to  pieces  on 
the  Mall,  some  day,  Mr.  Yeere." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  rattled  down-hill,  having  satis- 
fied herself,  by  a  glance  through  the  fringe  of  her 
sunshade,  of  the  effect  of  her  words. 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  31 

The  shot  went  home.  Of  a  surety  Otis  Yeere 
was  somebody  in  this  bewildering  whirl  of 
Simla — had  monopolized  tho  nicest  woman  in  it 
and  the  Punjabis  were  growling.  The  notion 
justified  a  mild  glow  of  vanity.  He  had  never 
looked  upon  his  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee  as  a  matter  for  general  interest. 

The  knowledge  of  envy  was  a  pleasant  feeling 
to  the  man  of  no  account.  It  was  intensified 
later  in  the  day  when  a  luncher  at  the  Club  said, 
spitefully,  "  Well,  for  a  debilitated  Ditcher, 
Yeere,  you  are  going  it.  Hasn't  any  kind  friend 
told  you  that  she's  the  most  dangerous  woman  in 
Simla?" 

Yeere  chuckled  and  passed  out.  When,  oh 
when,  would  his  new  clothes  be  ready?  He 
descended  into  the  Mall  to  inquire;  and  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  coming  over  the  Church  Ridge  in  her 
'rickshaw,  looked  down  upon  him  approvingly. 
"He's  learning  to  carry  himself  as  if  he  were  a 
man,  instead  of  a  piece  of  furniture, — and,"  she 
screwed  up  her  eyes  to  see  the  better  through  the 
sunlight — "he  is  a  man  when  he  holds  himself 
like  that.  Oh  blessed  Conceit,  what  should  we 
be  without  you  ?  " 

With  the  new  clothes  came  a  new  stock  of 
self-confidence.  Otis  Yeere  discovered  that  he 
could  enter  a  room  without  breaking  into  a  gentle 
perspiration — could  cross  one,  even  to  talk  tc 


yi  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

Mrs.  Hauksbee,  as  though  rooms  were  meant  to 
be  crossed.  He  was  for  the  first  time  in  nine 
years  proud  of  himself,  and  contented  with  his 
life,  satisfied  with  his  new  clothes,  and  rejoicing 
in  the  friendship  of  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 

"  Conceit  is  what  the  poor  fellow  wants,"  she 
said  in  confidence  to  Mrs.  Mallowe.  "  I  believe 
they  must  use  Civilians  to  plough  the  fields  with 
in  Lower  Bengal.  You  see  I  have  to  begin  from 
the  very  beginning — haven't  1  ?  But  you'll  admit, 
won't  you,  dear,  that  he  is  immensely  improved 
since  I  took  him  in  hand.  Only  give  me  a  little 
more  time  and  he  won't  know  himself." 

Indeed,  Yeere  was  rapidly  beginning  to  forget 
what  he  had  been.  One  of  his  own  rank  and  file 
put  the  matter  brutally  when  he  asked  Yeere,  in 
reference  to  nothing,  "  And  who  has  been  making 
you  a  Member  of  Council,  lately  ?  You  carry  the 
side  of  half  a  dozen  of  'em." 

"I — I'm  awfly  sorry.  I  didn't  mean  it,  you 
know,"  said  Yeere,  apologetically. 

"There'll  be  no  holding  you,"  continued  the 
old  stager,  grimly.  "Climb  down,  Otis — climb 
down,  and  get  all  that  beastly  affectation  knocked 
out  of  you  with  fever  !  Three  thousand  a  month 
wouldn't  support  it." 

Yeere  repeated  the  incident  to  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 
He  had  come  to  look  upon  her  as  his  Mother 
Confessor. 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  33 

"And  you  apologized!"  she  said.  "Oh,  shameJ 
I  hate  a  man  who  apologizes.  •  Never  apologize 
for  what  your  friend  called 'side.'  Never!  It's 
a  man's  business  to  be  insolent  and  overbearing 
until  he  meets  with  a  stronger.  Now,  you  bad 
boy,  listen  to  me." 

Simply  and  straightforwardly,  as  the  'rickshaw 
loitered  round  Jakko,  Mrs.  Hauksbee  preached  to 
Otis  Yeere  the  Great  Gospel  of  Conceit,  illustrat- 
ing it  with  living  pictures  encountered  during 
their  Sunday  afternoon  stroll. 

"  Good  gracious! "  she  ended, with  the  personal 
argument,  "you'll  apologize  next  for  being  my 
attach?  ?  " 

"Never!"  said  Otis  Yeere.  "That's  another 
thing  altogether.  I  shall  always  be  " — 

"What's  coming?"  thought  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 

"  Proud  of  that,"  said  Otis. 

"Safe  for  the  present,"  she  said  to  herself. 

"But  I'm  afraid  I  have  grown  conceited! 
Like  Jeshurun,  you  know.  When  he  waxed  fat, 
then  he  kicked.  It's  the  having  no  worry  on  one's 
mind  and  the  Hill  air,  I  suppose." 

"Hill  air,  indeed!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee  to  her- 
self. "  He'd  have  been  hiding  in  the  Club  till  the 
last  day  of  his  leave,  if  I  hadn't  discovered  him." 
And  aloud  — 

"Why  shouldn't  you  be?  You  have  every 
right  to." 


34  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

"I!    Why?" 

"Oh,  hundreds  of  things.  I'm  not  going  to 
waste  this  lovely  afternoon  by  explaining;  but  I 
know  you  have.  What  was  that  heap  of  manu- 
script you  showed  me  about  the  grammar  of  the 
aboriginal — what's  their  names  ?  " 

"  Gullals.  A  piece  of  nonsense.  I've  far  too 
much  work  to  do  to  bother  over  Gullals  now. 
You  should  see  my  District.  Come  down  with 
your  husband  some  day  and  I'll  show  you  round. 
Such  a  lovely  place  in  the  Rains!  A  sheet  of 
water  with  the  railway-embankment  and  the 
snakes  sticking  out,  and,  in  the  summer,  green 
flies  and  green  squash.  The  people  would  die 
of  fear  if  you  shook  a  dogwhip  at  'em.  But  they 
know  you're  forbidden  to  do  that,  so  they  con- 
spire to  make  your  life  a  burden  to  you.  My 
District's  worked  by  some  man  at  Darjiling,  on 
the  strength  of  a  native  pleader's  false  reports. 
Oh,  it's  a  heavenly  place!  " 

Otis  Yeere  laughed  bitterly. 

"  There's  not  the  least  necessity  that  you  should 
stay  in  it.  Why  do  you  ?  " 

"  Because  I  must.     How'm  I  to  get  out  of  it  ?  " 

"How!  In  a  hundred  and'  fifty  ways.  If 
there  weren't  so  many  people  on  the  road,  I'd  like 
to  box  your  ears.  Ask,  my  dear  boy,  ask! 
Look!  There  is  young  Hexarly  with  six  years' 
service  and  half  your  talents.  He  asked  for  what 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  35 

he  wanted,  and  he  got  it.  See,  down  by  the 
Convent!  There's  McArthurson  who  has  come 
to  his  present  position  by  asking — sheer,  down- 
right asking — after  he  had  pushed  himself  out  of 
the  rank  and  file.  One  man  is  as  good  as  an- 
other in  your  service — believe  me.  I've  seen 
Simla  for  more  seasons  than  I  care  to  think  about. 
Do  you  suppose  men  are  chosen  for  appoint- 
ments because  of  their  special  fitness  beforehand  ? 
You  have  all  passed  a  high  test — what  do  you 
call  it? — in  the  beginning,  and,  except  for  the 
few  who  have  gone  altogether  to  the  bad,  you 
can  all  work  hard.  Asking  does  the  rest.  Call 
it  cheek,  call  it  insolence,  call  it  anything  you 
like,  but  ash!  Men  argue — yes,  I  know  what 
men  say — that  a  man,  by  the  mere  audacity  of  his 
request,  must  have  some  good  in  him.  A  weak 
man  doesn't  say:  'Give  me  this  and  that.'  He 
whines:  'Why  haven't  I  been  given  this  and 
that  ? '  If  you  were  in  the  Army,  I  should  say 
learn  to  spin  plates  or  play  a  tambourine  with 
your  toes.  As  it  is — ask!  You  belong  to  a 
Service  that  ought  to  be  able  to  command  the 
Channel  Fleet,  or  set  a  leg  at  twenty  minutes' 
notice,  and  yet  you  hesitate  over  asking  to  escape 
from  a  squashy  green  district  where  you  admit 
you  are  not  master.  Drop  the  Bengal  Govern- 
ment altogether.  Even  Darjiling  is  a  little  out-of- 
the-way  hole.  I  was  there  once,  and  the  rents 


36  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

were  extortionate.  Assert  yourself.  Get  the 
Government  of  India  to  take  you  over.  Try  to 
get  on  the  Frontier,  where  every  man  has  a  grand 
chance  if  he  can  trust  himself.  Go  somewhere! 
Do  something!  You  have  twice  the  wits  and 
three  times  the  presence  of  the  men  up  here,  and, 
and" — Mrs.  Hauksbee  paused  for  breath;  then 
continued — "and  in  any  way  you  look  at  it,  you 
ought  to.  You  who  could  go  so  far! " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Yeere,  rather  taken  aback 
by  the  unexpected  eloquence.  "I  haven't  such 
a  good  opinion  of  myself." 

It  was  not  strictly  Platonic,  but  it  was  Policy. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  laid  her  hand  lightly  upon  the  un- 
gloved paw  that  rested  on  the  turned-backed 
'rickshaw  hood,  and,  looking  the  man  full  in  the 
face,  said  tenderly,  almost  too  tenderly,  "/  be- 
lieve in  you  if  you  mistrust  yourself.  Is  that 
enough,  my  friend  ?  " 

"It  is  enough,"  answered  Otis,  very  solemnly. 

He  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  redreaming  the 
dreams  that  he  had  dreamed  eight  years  ago,  but 
through  them  all  ran,  as  sheet-lightning  through 
golden  cloud,  the  light  of  Mrs,  Hauksbee's  violet 
eyes. 

Curious  and  impenetrable  are  the  mazes  of 
Simla  life — the  only  existence  in  this  desolate 
land  worth  the  living.  Gradually  it  went  abroad 
among  men  and  women,  in  the  pauses  between 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  yj 

dance,  play  and  Gymkhana,  that  Otis  Yeere,  the 
man  with  the  newly-lit  light  of  self-confidence 
in  his  eyes,  had  "done  something  decent"  in  the 
wilds  whence  he  came.  He  had  brought  an 
erring  Municipality  to  reason,  appropriated  the 
funds  on  his  own  responsibility,  and  saved  the 
lives  of  hundreds.  He  knew  more  about  the 
Gullals  than  any  living  man.  Had  a  vast  knowl- 
edge of  the  aboriginal  tribes;  'was,  in  spite  of 
his  juniority,  the  greatest  authority  on  the  abo- 
riginal Gullals.  No  one  quite  knew  who  or 
what  the  Gullals  were  till  The  Mussuck,  who 
had  been  calling  on  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  and  prided 
himself  upon  picking  people's  brains,  explained 
they  were  a  tribe  of  ferocious  hillmen,  some- 
where near  Sikkim,  whose  friendship  even  the 
Great  Indian  Empire  would  find  it  worth  her 
while  to  secure.  Now  we  know  that  Otis  Yeere 
had  showed  Mrs.  Hauksbee  his  MS.  notes  of  six 
years'  standing  on  these  same  Gullals.  He  had 
told  her,  too,  how,  sick  and  shaken  with  the 
fever  their  negligence  had  bred,  crippled  by  the 
loss  of  his  pet  clerk,  and  savagely  angry  at  the 
desolation  in  his  charge,  he  had  once  damned  the 
collective  eyes  of  his  "intelligent  local  board" 
for  a  set  of  haram^adas.  Which  act  of  "  brutal 
and  tyrannous  oppression"  won  him  a  Repri- 
mand Royal  from  the  Bengal  Government;  but 
in  the  anecdote  as  amended  for  Northern  con- 


38  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

sumption  we  find  no  record  of  this.  Hence  we 
are  forced  to  conclude  that  Mrs.  Hauksbee  edited 
his  reminiscences  before  sowing  them  in  idle 
ears,  ready,  as  she  well  knew,  to  exaggerate  good 
or  evil.  And  Otis  Yeere  bore  himself  as  befitted 
the  hero  of  many  tales. 

"You  can  talk  to  me  when  you  don't  fall  into 
a  brown  study.  Talk  now,  and  talk  your  bright- 
est and  best,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 

Otis  needed  no  spur.  Look  to  a  man  who  has 
the  counsel  of  a  woman  of  or  above  the  world  to 
back  him.  So  long  as  he  keeps  his  head,  he  can 
meet  both  sexes  on  equal  ground — an  advantage 
never  intended  by  Providence,  who  fashioned 
Man  on  one  day  and  Woman  on  another,  in  sign 
that  neither  should  know  more  than  a  very  little 
of  the  other's  life.  Such  a  man  goes  far,  or,  the 
counsel  being  withdrawn,  collapses  suddenly 
while  his  world  seeks  the  reason. 

Generalled  by  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  who,  again,  had 
all  Mrs.  Mallowe's  wisdom  at  her  disposal,  proud 
of  himself  and,  in  the  end,  believing  in  himself 
because  he  was  believed  in,  Otis  Yeere  stood 
ready  for  any  fortune  that  might  befall,  certain 
that  it  would  be  good.  He  would  fight  for  his 
own  hand,  and  intended  that  this  second  struggle 
should  lead  to  better  issue  than  the  first  helpless 
surrender  of  the  bewildered  'Stunt. 

What  might  have  happened,  it  is  impossible  to 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  39 

say.  This  lamentable  thing  befell,  bred  directly 
by  a  statement  of  Mrs.  Hauksbee  that  she  would 
spend  the  next  season  in  Darjiling. 

"Are  you  certain  of  that  ?"  said  Otis  Yeere. 

"  Quite.    We're  writing  about  a  house  now." 

Otis  Yeere  "stopped  dead,"  as  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
put  it  in  discussing  the  relapse  with  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe. 

"He  has  behaved,"  she  said,  angrily,  "just 
like  Captain  Kerrington's  pony — only  Otis  is  a 
donkey — at  the  last  Gymkhana.  Planted  his 
forefeet  and  refused  to  go  on  another  step. 
Polly,  my  man's  going  to  disappoint  me.  What 
shall  I  do?" 

As  a  rule,  Mrs.  Mallowe  does  not  approve  of 
staring,  but  on  this  occasion  she  opened  her  eyes 
to  the  utmost. 

"  You  have  managed  cleverly  so  far,"  she  said. 
"Speak  to  him,  and  ask  him  what  he  means." 

"I  will — at  to-night's  dance." 

"No — o,  not  at  a  dance,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
cautiously.  "  Men  are  never  themselves  quite  at 
dances.  Better  wait  till  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Nonsense.  If  he's  going  to  'vert  in  this  in- 
sane way,  there  isn't  a  day  to  lose.  Are  you  go- 
ing ?  No  ?  Then  sit  up  for  me,  there's  a  dear. 
I  shan't  stay  longer  than  supper  under  any  cir- 
cumstances." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  waited  through  the  evening,  look- 


4O  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere 

ing  long  and  earnestly  into  the  fire,  and  sometimes 
smiling  to  herself. 

****** 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!  The  man's  an  idiot!  A  rav- 
ing, positive  idiot!  I'm  sorry  I  ever  saw  him!" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  burst  into  Mrs.  Mallowe's  house, 
at  midnight,  almost  in  tears. 

"What  in  the  world  has  happened?"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe,  but  her  eyes  showed  that  she  had 
guessed  an  answer. 

"Happened!  Everything  has  happened!  He 
was  there.  I  went  to  him  and  said,  '  Now,  what 
does  this  nonsense  mean?'  Don't  laugh,  dear,  I 
can't  bear  it.  But  you  know  what  I  mean  I  said. 
Then  it  was  a  square,  and  I  sat  it  out  with  him 
and  wanted  an  explanation,  and  he  said —  Oh!  I 
haven't  patience  with  such  idiots!  You  know 
what  I  said  about  going  to  Darjiling  next  year? 
It  doesn't  matter  to  me  where  \  go.  I'd  have 
changed  the  Station  and  lost  the  rent  to  have 
saved  this.  He  said,  in  so  many  words,  that  he 
wasn't  going  to  try  to  work  up  any  more,  be- 
cause— because  he  would  be  shifted  into  a  prov- 
ince away  from  Darjiling,  and  his  own  District, 
where  these  creatures  are,  is  within  a  day's  jour- 
ney"— 

"Ah — hh!"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  in  a  tone  of 
one  who  has  successfully  tracked  an  obscure 
word  through  a  large  dictionary. 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  41 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  anything  so  mad — so 
absurd?  And  he  had  the  ball  at  his  feet.  He 
had  only  to  kick  it!  I  would  have  made  him 
anything!  Anything  in  the  wide  world.  He 
could  have  gone  to  the  world's  end.  I  would 
have  helped  him.  1  made  him,  didn't  I,  Polly? 
Didn't  I  create  that  man  ?  Doesn't  he  owe  every- 
thing to  me?  And  to  reward  me,  just  when 
everything  was  nicely  arranged,  by  this  lunacy 
that  spoiled  everything! " 

"Very  few  men  understand  your  devotion 
thoroughly." 

"Oh,  Polly,  don't  laugh  at  me!  I  give  men 
up  from  this  hour.  I  could  have  killed  him  then 
and  there.  What  right  had  this  man — this  Thing 
I  had  picked  out  of  his  filthy  paddy-fields — to 
make  love  to  me?" 

"He  did  that,  did  he?" 

"He  did.  I  don't  remember  half  he  said,  I 
was  so  angry.  Oh,  but  such  a  funny  thing  hap- 
pened! I  can't  help  laughing  at  it  now,  though 
I  felt  nearly  ready  to  cry  with  rage.  He  raved 
and  I  stormed — I'm  afraid  we  must  have  made 
an  awful  noise  \n  our  kala  juggah.  Protect  my 
character,  dear,  if  it's  all  over  Simla  by  to-mor- 
row— and  then  he  bobbed  forward  in  the  middle 
of  this  insanity — I  firmly  believe  the  man's  de- 
mented— and  kissed  me!  " 

"Morals  above  reproach,"  purred  Mrs.  Mallowe. 


42  The  Education  of  Otis  Yeert 

"  So  they  were — so  they  are!  It  was  the  most 
absurd  kiss.  I  don't  believe  he'd  ever  kissed  a 
woman  in  his  life  before.  I  threw  my  head 
back,  and  it  was  a  sort  of  slidy,  pecking  dab, 
just  on  the  end  of  the  chin — here."  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee  tapped  her  masculine  little  chin  with  her  fan. 
"Then,  of  course,  I  was  furiously  angry,  and 
told  him  that  he  was  no  gentleman,  and  I  was 
sorry  I'd  ever  met  him,  and  so  on.  He  was 
crushed  so  easily  that  I  couldn't  be  -very  angry. 
Then  I  came  away  straight  to  you." 

"Was  this  before  or  after  supper?" 

"Oh!  before — oceans  before.  Isn't  it  perfectly 
disgusting  ?  " 

"Let  me  think.  I  withhold  judgment  till  to- 
morrow. Morning  brings  counsel." 

But  morning  brought  only  a  servant  with  a 
dainty  bouquet  of  Annandale  roses  for  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  to  wear  at  the  dance  at  Viceregal 
Lodge  that  night." 

"He  doesn't  seem  to  be  very  penitent,"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe.  "What's  the  billet-doux  in  the 
centre  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  opened  the  neatly  folded  note, 
— another  accomplishment  that  she  had  taught 
Otis, — read  it,  and  groaned  tragically. 

"Last  wreck  of  a  feeble  intellect!  Poetry!  Is 
it  his  own,  do  you  think  ?  Oh,  that  I  ever  built 
my  hopes  on  such  a  maudlin  idiot! " 


The  Education  of  Otis  Yeere  43 

"No.  It's  a  quotation  from  Mrs.  Browning, 
and,  in  view  of  the  facts  of  the  case,  as  Jack 
says,  uncommonly  well  chosen.  Listen  — 

"  '  Sweet  thou  hast  trod  on  a  heart, 

Pass !     There's  a  world  full  of  men; 
And  women  as  fair  as  thou  art, 
Must  do  such  things  now  and  then. 

"  •  Thou  only  hast  stepped  unaware  — 

Malice  not  one  can  impute  ; 
And  why  should  a  heart  have  been  there, 
In  the  way  of  a  fair  woman's  foot  ?  "  ' 

"I  didn't  — I  didn't  — I  didn't!"— said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  angrily,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears; 
"  there  was  no  malice  at  all.  Oh,  it's  too  vexa- 
tious!" 

"You've  misunderstood  the  compliment,"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe.  "  He  clears  you  completely  and 
— ahem — I  should  think  by  this,  that  he  has 
cleared  completely  too.  My  experience  of  men 
is  that  when  they  begin  to  quote  poetry,  they  are 
going  to  flit.  Like  swans  singing  before  they 
die,  you  know." 

"  Polly,  you  take  my  sorrows  in  a  most  unfeel- 
ing way." 

"Do  I?  Is  it  so  terrible?  If  he's  hurt  your 
vanity,  I  should  say  that  you've  done  a  certain 
amount  of  damage  to  his  heart." 

"Oh,  you  never  can  tell  about  a  man!"  said 
Mrs.  Hauksbee. 


AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 


AT  THE  PIT'S  MOUTH 

Men  say  it  was  a  stolen  tide  — 

The  Lord  that  sent  it  he  knows  all, 

But  in  mine  ear  will  aye  abide 
The  message  that  the  bells  let  fall, 

And  awesome  bells  they  were  to  me, 

That  in  the  dark  rang,  "  Enderby." 

— Jean  Ingelmo. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  Man  and  his 
Wife  and  a  Tertium  Quid. 
All  three  were  unwise,  but  the  Wife  was  the 
unwisest.  The  Man  should  have  looked  after  his 
Wife,  who  should  have  avoided  the  Tertium  Quid, 
who,  again,  should  have  married  a  wife  of  his 
own,  after  clean  and  open  flirtations,  to  which 
nobody  can  possibly  object,  round  Jakko  or  Ob- 
servatory Hill.  When  you  see  a  young  man 
with  his  pony  in  a  white  lather,  and  his  hat  on 
the  back  of  his  head  flying  down-hill  at  fifteen 
miles  an  hour  to  meet  a  girl  who  will  be  properly 
surprised  to  meet  him,  you  naturally  approve  of 
that  young  man,  and  wish  him  Staff  appoint- 
ments, and  take  an  interest  in  his  welfare,  and, 
as  the  proper  time  comes,  give  them  sugar-tongs 
or  side-saddles  according  to  your  means  and  gen- 
erosity. 

47 


48  At  the  Pit's  Mouth 

The  Tertium  Quid  flew  down-hill  on  horseback, 
but  it  was  to  meet  the  Man's  Wife  ;  and  when 
he  flew  up-hill  it  was  for  the  same  end.  The 
Man  was  in  the  Plains,  earning  money  for  his 
Wife  to  spend  on  dresses  and  four-hundred-rupee 
bracelets,  and  inexpensive  luxuries  of  that  kind. 
He  worked  very  hard,  and  sent  her  a  letter  or  a 
post-card  daily.  She  also  wrote  to  him  daily, 
and  said  that  she  was  longing  for  him  to  come 
up  to  Simla.  The  Tertium  Quid  used  to  lean 
over  her  shoulder  and  laugh  as  §he  wrote  the 
notes.  Then  the  two  would  ride  to  the  Post 
Office  together. 

Now,  Simla  is  a  strange  place  and  its  customs 
are  peculiar  ;  nor  is  any  man  who  has  not  spent 
at  least  ten  seasons  there  qualified  to  pass  judg- 
ment on  circumstantial  evidence,  which  is  the 
most  untrustworthy  in  the  Courts.  For  these 
reasons,  and  for  others  which  need  not  appear,  I 
decline  to  state  positively  whether  there  was  any- 
thing irretrievably  wrong  in  the  relations  between 
the  Man's  Wife  and  the  Tertium  Quid.  If  there 
was,  and  hereon  you  must  form. your  own  opin- 
ion, it  was  the  Man's  Wife's  fault.  She  was  kit- 
tenish in  her  manners,  wearing  generally  an  air 
of  soft  and  fluffy  innocence.  But  she  was  dead- 
lily  learned  and  evil-instructed;  and,  now  and 
again,  when  the  mask  dropped,  men  saw  this, 
shuddered  and — almost  drew  back.  Men  are  oc- 


At  the  Pit's  Mouth  49 

casionally  particular,  and  the  least  particular  men 
are  always  the  most  exacting. 

Simla  is  eccentric  in  its  fashion  of  treating 
friendships.  Certain  attachments  which  have  set 
and  crystallized  through  half  a  dozen  seasons 
acquire  almost  the  sanctity  of  the  marriage  bond, 
and  are  revered  as  such.  Again,  certain  attach- 
ments equally  old,  and,  to  all  appearance,  equally 
venerable,  never  seem  to  win  any  recognized 
official  status;  while  a  chance-sprung  acquaint- 
ance, not  two  months  born,  steps  into  the  place 
which  by  right  belongs  to  the  senior.  There  is 
no  law  reducible  to  print  which  regulates  these 
affairs. 

Some  people  have  a  gift  which  secures  them  in- 
finite toleration,  and  others  have  not.  The  Man's 
Wife  had  not.  If  she  looked  over  the  garden 
wall,  for  instance,  women  taxed  her  with  steal- 
ing their  husbands.  She  complained  pathetically 
that  she  was  not  allowed  to  choose  her  own 
friends.  When  she  put  up  her  big  white  muff  to 
her  lips,  and  gazed  over  it  and  under  her  eyebrows 
at  you  as  she  said  this  thing,  you  felt  that  she  had 
been  infamously  misjudged,  and  that  all  the  other 
women's  instincts  were  all  wrong  ;  which  was 
absurd.  She  was  not  allowed  to  own  the  Tertium 
Quid  in  peace;  and  was  so  strangely  constructed 
that  she  would  not  have  enjoyed  peace  had  she 
been  so  permitted.  She  preferred  some  sem- 


5°  At  the  Pit's 


blance  of  intrigue  to  cloak  even  her  most  common- 
place actions. 

After  two  months  of  riding,  first  round  Jakko, 
then  Elysium,  then  Summer  Hill,  then  Observa- 
tory Hill,  then  under  Jutogh,  and  lastly  up  and 
down  the  Cart  Road  as  far  as  the  Tara  Devi  gap 
in  the  dusk,  she  said  to  the  Tertium  Quid,  "Frank, 
people  say  we  are  too  much  together,  and  people 
are  so  horrid." 

The  Tertium  Quid  pulled  his  moustache,  and 
replied  that  horrid  people  were  unworthy  of  the 
consideration  of  nice  people. 

"  But  they  have  done  more  than  talk  —  they  have 
written  —  written  to  my  hubby  —  I'm  sure  of  it," 
said  the  Man's  Wife,  and  she  pulled  a  letter  from 
her  husband  out  of  her  saddle-pocket  and  gave  it 
to  the  Tertium  Quid. 

It  was  an  honest  letter,  written  by  an  honest 
man,  then  stewing  in  the  Plains  on  two  hundred 
rupees  a  month  (for  he  allowed  his  wife  eight 
hundred  and  fifty),  and  in  a  silk  banian  and  cot- 
ton trousers.  It  is  said  that,  perhaps,  she  had  not 
thought  of  the  unwisdom  of  allowing  her  name 
to  be  so  generally  coupled  '  with  the  Tertium 
Quid's;  that  she  was  too  much  of  a  child  to  un- 
derstand the  dangers  of  that  sort  of  thing;  that 
he,  her  husband,  was  the  last  man  in  the  world 
to  interfere  jealously  with  her  little  amusements 
and  interests,  but  that  it  would  be  better  were  she 


At  the  Pit's  Mouth  51 

to  drop  the  Tertium  Quid  quietly  and  for  her  hus- 
band's sake.  The  letter  was  sweetened  with 
many  pretty  little  pet  names,  and  it  amused  the 
Tertium  Quid  considerably.  He  and  She  laughed 
over  it,  so  that  you,  fifty  yards  away,  could  see 
their  shoulders  shaking  while  the  horses  slouched 
along  side  by  side. 

Their  conversation  was  not  worth  reporting. 
The  upshot  of  it  was  that,  next  day,  no  one  saw 
the  Man's  Wife  and  the  Tertium  Quid  together. 
They  had  both  gone  down  to  the  Cemetery, 
which,  as  a  rule,  is  only  visited  officially  by  the 
inhabitants  of  Simla. 

A  Simla  funeral  with  the  clergyman  riding,  the 
mourners  riding,  and  the  coffin  creaking  as  it 
swings  between  the  bearers,  is  one  of  the  most 
depressing  things  on  this  earth,  particularly  when 
the  procession  passes  under  the  wet,  dank  dip 
beneath  the  Rockcliffe  Hotel,  where  the  sun  is 
shut  out,  and  all  the  hill  streams  are  wailing  and 
weeping  together  as  they  go  down  the  valleys. 

Occasionally,  folk  tend  the  graves,  but  we  in 
India  shift  and  are  transferred  so  often  that,  at  the 
end  of  the  second  year,  the  Dead  have  no  friends 
— only  acquaintances  who  are  far  too  busy  amus- 
ing themselves  up  the  hill  to  attend  to  old  part- 
ners. The  idea  of  using  a  Cemetery  as  a  ren- 
dezvous is  distinctly  a  feminine  one.  A  man 
would  have  said  simply  "  Let  people  talk.  We'll 


52  At  the  Pit's  Mouth 

go  down  the  Mall."  A  woman  is  made  differ- 
ently, especially  if  she  be  such  a  woman  as  the 
Man's  Wife.  She  and  the  Tertium  Quid  enjoyed 
each  other's  society  among  the  graves  of  men  and 
women  whom  they  had  known  and  danced  with 
aforetime. 

They  used  to  take  a  big  horse-blanket  and  sit 
on  the  grass  a  little  to  the  left  of  the  lower  end, 
where  there  is  a  dip  in  the  ground,  and  where  the 
occupied  graves  stop  short  and  the  ready-made 
ones  are  not  ready.  Each  well-regulated  Indian 
Cemetery  keeps  half  a  dozen  graves  permanently 
open  for  contingencies  and  incidental  wear 
and  tear.  In  the  Hills  these  are  more  usually 
baby's  size,  because  children  who  come  up 
weakened  and  sick  from  the  Plains  often  suc- 
cumb to  the  effects  of  the  Rains  in  the  Hills  or 
get  pneumonia  from  their  ayahs  taking  them 
through  damp  pine-woods  after  the  sun  has  set. 
In  Cantonments,  of  course,  the  man's  size  is 
more  in  request;  these  arrangements  varying 
v/ith  the  climate  and  population. 

One  day  when  the  Man's  Wife  and  the  Tertium 
Quid  had  just  arrived  in  the  Cemetery,  they  saw 
some  coolies  breaking  ground.  They  had  marked 
out  a  full-size  grave,  and  the  Tertium  Quid  asked 
them  whether  any  Sahib  was  sick.  They  said 
that  they  did  not  know ;  but  it  was  an  order  that 
they  should  dig  a  Sahib's  grave. 


At  the  Pit's  Mouth  53 

"Work  away,"  said  the  Tertium  Quid,  "and 
let's  see  how  it's  done." 

The  coolies  worked  away,  and  the  Man's  Wife 
and  the  Tertium  Quid  watched  and  talked  for  a 
couple  of  hours  while  the  grave  was  being  deep- 
ened. Then  a  coolie,  taking  the  earth  in  baskets 
as  it  was  thrown  up,  jumped  over  the  grave. 

"That's  queer,"  said  the  Tertium  Quid. 
"Where's  my  ulster?" 

"  What's  queer  ?"  said  the  Man's  Wife. 

"  I  have  got  a  chill  down  my  back — just  as  if  a 
goose  had  walked  over  my  grave." 

"Why  do  you  look  at  the  thing,  then  ?"  said 
the  Man's  Wife.  "  Let  us  go." 

The  Tertium  Quid  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
grave,  and  stared  without  answering  for  a  space. 
Then  he  said,  dropping  a  pebble  down,  "It  is 
nasty — and  cold;  horribly  cold.  I  don't  think  I 
shall  come  to  the  Cemetery  any  more.  I  don't 
think  grave-digging  is  cheerful." 

The  two  talked  and  agreed  that  the  Cemetery 
was  depressing.  They  also  arranged  for  a  ride 
next  day  out  from  the  Cemetery  through  the 
Mashobra  Tunnel  up  to  Fagoo  and  back,  because 
all  the  world  was  going  to  a  garden-party  at 
Viceregal  Lodge,  and  all  the  people  of  Mashobra 
would  go  too. 

Coming  up  the  Cemetery  road,  the  Tertium 
Quid's  horse  tried  to  bolt  up-hill,  being  tired 


54  At  the  Pit's  Mouth 

with  standing  so  long,  and  managed  to  strain  a 
back  sinew. 

"I  shall  have  to  take  the  mare  to-morrow," 
said  the  Tertium  Quid,  "and  she  will  stand 
nothing  heavier  than  a  snaffle." 

They  made  their  arrangements  to  meet  in  the 
Cemetery,  after  allowing  all  the  Mashobra  people 
time  to  pass  into  Simla.  That  night  it  rained 
heavily,  and,  next  day,  when  the  Tertium  Quid 
came  to  the  trysting-place,  he  saw  that  the  new 
grave  had  a  foot  of  water  in  it,  the  ground  being 
a  tough  and  sour  clay. 

"  'Jove!  That  looks  beastly,"  said  the  Tertium 
Quid.  "Fancy  being  boarded  up  and  dropped 
into  that  well!" 

They  then  started  off  to  Fagoo,  the  mare  play- 
ing with  the  snaffle  and  picking  her  way  as 
though  she  were  shod  with  satin,  and  the  sun 
shining  divinely.  The  road  below  Mashobra  to 
Fagoo  is  officially  styled  the  Himalayan-Thibet 
Road;  but  in  spite  of  its  name  it  is  not  much 
more  than  six  feet  wide  in  most  places,  and  the 
drop  into  the  valley  below  may  be  anything  be- 
tween one  and  two  thousand  feet. 

"Now  we're  going  to  Thibet,"  said  the  Man's 
Wife  merrily,  as  the  horses  drew  near  to  Fagoo. 
She  was  riding  on  the  cliff-side. 

"Into  Thibet,"  said  the  Tertium  Quid,  "ever 
so  far  from  people  who  say  horrid  things,  and 


At  the  Pit's  Mouth  55 

hubbies  who  write  stupid  letters.  With  you — 
to  the  end  of  the  world!  " 

A  coolie  carrying  a  log  of  wood  came  round  a 
corner,  and  the  mare  went  wide  to  avoid  him — 
forefeet  in  and  haunches  out,  as  a  sensible  mare 
should  go. 

"To  the  world's  end,"  said  the  Man's  Wife, 
and  looked  unspeakable  things  over  her  near 
shoulder  at  the  Tertium  Quid. 

He  was  smiling,  but,  while  she  looked,  the 
smile  froze  stiff  as  it  were  on  his  face,  and 
changed  to  a  nervous  grin — the  sort  of  grin  men 
wear  when  they  are  not  quite  easy  in  their  sad- 
dles. The  mare  seemed  to  be  sinking  by  the 
stern,  and  her  nostrils  cracked  while  she  was 
trying  to  realize  what  was  happening.  The  rain 
of  the  night  before  had  rotted  the  drop-side  of 
the  Himalayan-Thibet  Road,  and  it  was  giving 
way  under  her.  "  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  said  the 
Man's  Wife.  The  Tertium  Quid  gave  no  answer. 
He  grinned  nervously  and  set  his  spurs  into  the 
mare,  who  rapped  with  her  forefeet  on  the  road, 
and  the  struggle  began.  The  Man's  Wife 
screamed,  "Oh,  Frank,  get  off!" 

But  the  Tertium  Quid  was  glued  to  the  saddle 
— his  face  blue  and  white — and  he  looked  into 
the  Man's  Wife's  eyes.  Then  the  Man's  Wife 
clutched  at  the  mare's  head  and  caught  her  by 
the  nose  instead  of  the  bridle.  The  brute  threw 


56  At  the  Pit's  Mouth 

up  her  head  and  went  down  with  a  scream,  the 
Tertium  Quid  upon  her,  and  the  nervous  grin 
still  set  on  his  face. 

The  Man's  Wife  heard  the  tinkle-tinkle  of  little 
stones  and  loose  earth  falling  off  the  roadway, 
and  the  sliding  roar  of  the  man  and  horse  going 
down.  Then  everything  was  quiet,  and  she 
called  on  Frank  to  leave  his  mare  and  walk  up. 
But  Frank  did  not  answer.  He  was  underneath 
the  mare,  nine  hundred  feet  below,  spoiling  a 
patch  of  Indian  corn. 

As  the  revellers  came  back  from  Viceregal 
Lodge  in  the  mists  of  the  evening,  they  met  a 
temporarily  insane  woman,  on  a  temporarily 
mad  horse,  swinging  round  the  corners,  with 
her  eyes  and  her  mouth  open,  and  her  head  like 
the  head  of  a  Medusa.  She  was  stopped  by  a 
man  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  and  taken  out  of  the 
saddle,  a  limp  heap,  and  put  on  the  bank  to  ex- 
plain herself.  This  wasted  twenty  minutes,  and 
then  she  was  sent  home  in  a  lady's  'rickshaw, 
still  with  her  mouth  open  and  her  hands  picking 
at  her  riding-gloves. 

She  was  in  bed  through  the  following  three 
days,  which  were  rainy;  so  she  missed  attend- 
ing the  funeral  of  the  Tertium  Quid,  who  was 
lowered  into  eighteen  inches  of  water,  instead  of 
the  twelve  to  which  he  had  first  objected. 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 


A  WAYSIDE  COMEDY 

Because  to  every  purpose  there  is  time  and  judgment,  therefore 
the  misery  of  man  is  great  upon  him. — Eccles.  viii.  6. 

FATE  and  the  Government  of  India  have  turned 
the  Station  of  Kashima  into  a  prison;  and, 
because  there  is  no  help  for  the  poor  souls  who 
are  now  lying  there  in  torment,  I  write  this  story, 
praying  that  the  Government  of  India  may  be 
moved  to  scatter  the  European  population  to  the 
four  winds. 

Kashima  is  bounded  on  all  sides  by  the  rock- 
tipped  circle  of  the  Dosehri  hills.  In  Spring,  it  is 
ablaze  with  roses;  in  Summer,  the  roses  die  and 
the  hot  winds  blow  from  the  hills;  in  Autumn, 
the  white  mists  from  the  jhils  cover  the  place  as 
with  water,  and  in  Winter  the  frosts  nip  every- 
thing young  and  tender  to  earth-level.  There  is 
but  one  view  in  Kashima — a  stretch  of  perfectly 
flat  pasture  and  plough-land,  running  up  to  the 
grey-blue  scrub  of  the  Dosehri  hills. 

There  are  no  amusements,  except  snipe  and 
tiger  shooting;  but  the  tigers  have  been  long 
since  hunted  from  their  lairs  in  the  rock-caves, 
and  the  snipe  only  come  once  a  year.  Narkarra 
—one  hundred  and  forty-three  miles  by  road — is 
59 


60  A  Wayside  Comedy 

the  nearest  station  to  Kashima.  But  Kashima 
never  goes  to  Narkarra,  where  there  are  at  least 
twelve  English  people.  It  stays  within  the  circle 
of  the  Dosehri  hills. 

All  Kashima  acquits  Mrs.  Vansuythen  of  any 
intention  to  do  harm;  but  all  Kashima  knows 
that  she,  and  she  alone,  brought  about  their 
pain. 

Boulte,  the  Engineer,  Mrs.  Boulte,  and  Captain 
Kurrell  know  this.  They  are  the  English  popu- 
lation of  Kashima.  if  we  except  Major  Vansuy- 
then, who  is  of  no  importance  whatever,  and 
Mrs.  Vansuythen,  who  is  the  most  important  of 
all. 

You  must  remember,  though  you  will  not 
understand,  that  all  laws  weaken  in  a  small  and 
hidden  community  where  there  is  no  public  opin- 
ion. When  a  man  is  absolutely  alone  in  a  Sta- 
tion he  runs  a  certain  risk  of  falling  into  evil 
ways.  This  risk  is  multiplied  by  every  addition 
to  the  population  up  to  twelve — the  Jury-num- 
ber. After  that,  fear  and  consequent  restraint  be- 
gin, and  human  action  becomes  less  grotesquely 
jerky. 

There  was  deep  peace  in  Kashima  till  Mrs.  Van- 
suythen arrived.  She  was  a  charming  woman, 
every  one  said  so  everywhere;  and  she  charmed 
every  one.  In  spite  of  this,  or,  perhaps,  because 
of  this,  since  Fate  is  so  perverse,  she  cared  only 


A  Wayside  Comedy  61 

for  one  man,  and  he  was  Major  Vansuythen. 
Had  she  been  plain  or  stupid,  this  matter  would 
have  been  intelligible  to  Kashima.  But  she  was 
a  fair  woman,  with  very  still  grey  eyes,  the  color 
of  a  lake  just  before  the  light  of  the  sun  touches 
it.  No  man  who  had  seen  those  eyes  could, 
later  on,  explain  what  fashion  of  woman  she 
was  to  look  upon.  The  eyes  dazzled  him.  Her 
own  sex  said  that  she  was  "not  bad  looking, 
but  spoiled  by  pretending  to  be  so  grave."  And 
yet  her  gravity  was  natural.  It  was  not  her  habit 
to  smile.  She  merely  went  through  life,  looking 
at  those  who  passed;  and  the  women  objected 
while  the  men  fell  down  and  worshipped. 

She  knows  and  is  deeply  sorry  for  the  evil  she 
has  done  to  Kashima;  but  Major  Vansuythen 
cannot  understand  why  Mrs.  Boulte  does  not 
drop  in  to  afternoon  tea  at  least  three  times  a 
week.  "When  there  are  only  two  women  in 
one  Station,  they  ought  to  see  a  great  deal  of 
each  other,"  says  Major  Vansuythen. 

Long  and  long  before  ever  Mrs.  Vansuythen 
came  out  of  those  far-away  places  where  there 
is  society  and  amusement,  Kurrell  had  discovered 
that  Mrs.  Boulte  was  the  one  woman  in  the  world 
for  him  and — you  dare  not  blame  them.  Kashima 
was  as  out  of  the  world  as  Heaven  or  the  Other 
Place,  and  the  Dosehri  hills  kept  their  secret  well. 
Boulte  had  no  concern  in  the  matter.  He  was  in 


62  A  Wayside  Comedy 

camp  for  a  fortnight  at  a  time.  He  was  a  hard, 
heavy  man,  and  neither  Mrs.  Boulte  nor  Kurrell 
pitied  him.  They  had  all  Kashima  and  each 
other  for  their  very,  very  own ;  and  Kashima  was 
the  Garden  of  Eden  in  those  days.  When  Boulte 
returned  from  his  wanderings  he  would  slap  Kur- 
rell between  the  shoulders  and  call  him  "old  fel- 
low," and  the  three  would  dine  together.  Ka- 
shima was  happy  then  when  the  judgment  of 
God  seemed  almost  as  distant  as  Narkarra  or  the 
railway  that  ran  down  to  the  sea.  But  the  Gov- 
ernment sent  Major  Vansuythen  to  Kashima,  and 
with  him  came  his  wife. 

The  etiquette  of  Kashima  is  much  the  same  as 
that  of  a  desert  island.  When  a  stranger  is  cast 
away  there,  all  hands  go  down  to  the  shore  to 
make  him  welcome.  Kashima  assembled  at  the 
masonry  platform  close  to  the  Narkarra  Road, 
and  spread  tea  for  the  Vansuythens.  That  cere- 
mony was  reckoned  a  formal  call,  and  made  them 
free  of  the  Station,  its  rights  and  privileges. 
When  the  Vansuythens  were  settled  down,  they 
gave  a  tiny  house-warming  to  all  Kashima;  and 
that  made  Kashima  free  of  their  house,  according 
to  the  immemorial  usage  of  the  Station. 

Then  the  Rains  came,  when  no  one  could  go 
Into  camp,  and  the  Narkarra  Road  was  washed 
away  by  the  Kasun  River,  and  in  the  cup-like 
pastures  of  Kashima  the  cattle  waded  knee-deep. 


A  Wayside  Comedy  63 

The  clouds  dropped  down  from  the  Dosehri  hills 
and  covered  everything. 

At  the  end  of  the  Rains,  Boulte's  manner 
toward  his  wife  changed  and  became  demon- 
stratively affectionate.  They  had  been  married 
twelve  years,  and  the  change  startled  Mrs.  Boulte, 
who  hated  her  husband  with  the  hate  of  a  woman 
who  has  met  with  nothing  but  kindness  from 
her  mate,  and,  in  the  teeth  of  this  kindness,  has 
done  him  a  great  wrong.  Moreover,  she  had 
her  own  trouble  to  fight  with — her  watch  to  keep 
over  her  own  property,  Kurrell.  For  two  months 
the  Rains  had  hidden  the  Dosehri  hills  and  many 
other  things  besides;  but,  when  they  lifted,  they 
showed  Mrs.  Boulte  that  her  man  among  men, 
her  Ted — for  she  called  him  Ted  in  the  old  days 
when  Boulte  was  out  of  earshot — was  slipping 
the  links  of  the  allegiance. 

"The  Vansuythen  Woman  has  taken  him," 
Mrs.  Boulte  said  to  herself;  and  when  Boulte 
was  away,  wept  over  her  belief,  in  the  face  of 
the  over-vehement  blandishments  of  Ted.  Sor- 
row in  Kashima  is  as  fortunate  as  Love,  because 
there  is  nothing  to  weaken  it  save  the  flight  of 
Time.  Mrs.  Boulte  had  never  breathed  her  sus- 
picion to  Kurrell  because  she  was  not  certain;  and 
her  nature  led  her  to  be  very  certain  before  she 
took  steps  in  any  direction.  That  is  why  she 
behaved  as  she  did. 


64  A  Wayside  Comedy 

Boulte  came  into  the  house  one  evening,  and 
leaned  against  the  door-posts  of  the  drawing- 
room,  chewing  his  moustache.  Mrs.  Boulte 
was  putting  some  flowers  into  a  vase.  There 
is  a  pretence  of  civilization  even  in  Kashima. 

"Little  woman,"  said  Boulte,  quietly,  "do you 
care  for  me  ?  " 

"Immensely,"  said  she,  with  a  laugh.  "Can 
you  ask  it  ?  " 

"But  I'm  serious,"  said  Boulte.  "Do  you 
care  for  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Boulte  dropped  the  flowers,  and  turned 
round  quickly.  "Do  you  want  an  honest  an- 
swer ?  " 

"  Ye-es,  I've  asked  for  it." 

Mrs.  Boulte  spoke  in  a  low,  even  voice  for  five 
minutes,  very  distinctly,  that  there  might  be  no 
misunderstanding  her  meaning.  When  Samson 
broke  the  pillars  of  Gaza,  he  did  a  little  thing, 
and  one  not  to  be  compared  to  the  deliberate 
pulling  down  of  a  woman's  homestead  about  her 
own  ears.  There  was  no  wise  female  friend  to 
advise  Mrs.  Boulte,  the  singularly  cautious  wife, 
to  hold  her  hand.  She  struck, at  Boulte's  heart, 
because  her  own  was  sick  with  suspicion  of 
Kurrell,  and  worn  out  with  the  long  strain  of 
watching  alone  through  the  Rains.  There  was 
no  plan  or  purpose  in  her  speaking.  The  sen- 
tences made  themselves;  and  Boulte  listened. 


A  Wayside  Comedy  65 

leaning  against  the  door-post  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets.  When  all  was  over,  and  Mrs. 
Boulte  began  to  breathe  through  her  nose  before 
breaking  out  into  tears,  he  laughed  and  stared 
straight  in  front  of  him  at  the  Dosehri  hills. 

"Is  that  all?"  he  said.  "Thanks,  I  only 
wanted  to  know,  you  know." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  said  the  woman, 
between  her  sobs. 

"Do!  Nothing.  What  should  I  do?  Kill 
Kurrell  or  send  you  Home,  or  apply  for  leave  to 
get  a  divorce  ?  It's  two  days'  dak  into  Narkarra." 
He  laughed  again  and  went  on:  "I'll  tell  you 
whatjvow  can  do.  You  can  ask  Kurrell  to  dinner 
to-morrow — no,  on  Thursday,  that  will  allow  you 
time  to  pack — and  you  can  bolt  with  him.  I  give 
you  my  word  I  won't  follow." 

He  took  up  his  helmet  and  went  out  of  the 
room,  and  Mrs.  Boulte  sat  till  the  moonlight 
streaked  the  floor,  thinking  and  thinking  and 
thinking.  She  had  done  her  best  upon  the  spur 
of  the  moment  to  pull  the  house  down;  but  it 
would  not  fall.  Moreover,  she  could  not  under- 
stand her  husband,  and  she  was  afraid.  Then 
the  folly  of  her  useless  truthfulness  struck  her, 
and  she  was  ashamed  to  write  to  Kurrell,  say- 
ing: "  I  have  gone  mad  and  told  everything.  My 
husband  says  that  I  am  free  to  elope  with  you. 
Get  a  ddh  for  Thursday,  and  we  will  fly  after 


66  A  Wayside  Comedy 

dinner."  There  was  a  cold-bloodedness  about 
that  procedure  which  did  not  appeal  to  her.  So 
she  sat  still  in  her  own  house  and  thought. 

At  dinner-time  Boulte  came  back  from  his 
walk,  white  and  worn  and  haggard,  and  the 
woman  was  touched  at  his  distress.  As  the 
evening  wore  on,  she  muttered  some  expression  of 
sorrow,  something  approaching  to  contrition. 
Boulte  came  out  of  a  brown  study  and  said, 
"Oh,  that!  I  wasn't  thinking  about  that.  By 
the  way,  what  does  Kurrell  say  to  the  elope- 
ment?" 

"  I  haven't  seen  him,"  said  Mrs.  Boulte.  "  Good 
God!  is  that  all?" 

But  Boulte  was  not  listening,  and  her  sentence 
ended  in  a  gulp. 

The  next  day  brought  no  comfort  to  Mrs. 
Boulte,  for  Kurrell  did  not  appear,  and  the  new 
life  that  she,  in  the  five  minutes'  madness  of  the 
previous  evening,  had  hoped  to  build  out  of  the 
ruins  of  the  old,  seemed  to  be  no  nearer. 

Boulte  ate  his  breakfast,  advised  her  to  see  her 
Arab  pony  fed  in  the  veranda,  and  went  out. 
The  morning  wore  through,  and  at  midday  the 
tension  became  unendurable.  Mrs.  Boulte  could 
not  cry.  She  had  finished  her  crying  in  the  night, 
and  now  she  did  not  want  to  be  left  alone. 
Perhaps  the  Vansuythen  Woman  would  talk  to 
her;  and,  since  talking  opens  the  heart,  perhaps 


A  Wayside  Comedy  07 

there  might  be  some  comfort  to  be  found  in  her 
company.  She  was  the  only  other  woman  in 
the  Station. 

In  Kashima  there  are  no  regular  calling-hours. 
Every  one  can  drop  in  upon  every  one  else  at 
pleasure.  Mrs.  Boulte  put  on  a  big  terai  hat,  and 
walked  across  to  the  Vansuythen's  house  to  bor- 
row last  week's  Queen.  The  two  compounds 
touched,  and  instead  of  going  up  the  drive,  she 
crossed  through  the  gap  in  the  cactus-hedge, 
entering  the  house  from  the-  back.  As  she 
passed  through  the  dining-room,  she  heard,  be- 
hind the  purdah  that  cloaked  the  drawing-room 
door,  her  husband's  voice,  saying  — 

"  But  on  my  Honor!  On  my  Soul  and  Honor, 
I  tell  you  she  doesn't  care  for  me.  She  told  me 
so  last  night.  I  would  have  told  you  then  if 
Vansuythen  hadn't  been  with  you.  If  it  is  for 
her  sake  that  you'll  have  nothing  to  say  to  me, 
you  can  make  your  mind  easy.  It's  Kurrell "  — 

"What?"  said  Mrs.  Vansuythen,  with  an 
hysterical  little  laugh.  "Kurrell!  Oh,  it  can't 
be!  You  two  must  have  made  some  horrible 
mistake.  Perhaps  you — you  lost  your  temper, 
or  misunderstood,  or  something.  Things  can't 
be  as  wrong  as  you  say." 

Mrs.  Vansuythen  had  shifted  her  defence  to 
avoid  the  man's  pleading,  and  was  desperately 
trying  to  keep  him  to  a  side-issue. 


68  A  Wayside  Comedy 

"There  must  be  some  mistake,"  she  insisted, 
"and  it  can  be  all  put  right  again." 

Boulte  laughed  grimly. 

"  It  can't  be  Captain  Kurrell!  He  told  me  that 
he  had  never  taken  the  least — the  least  interest  in 
your  wife,  Mr.  Boulte.  Oh,  do  listen!  He  said 
he  had  not.  He  swore  he  had  not,"  said  Mrs. 
Vansuythen. 

The  purdah  rustled,  and  the  speech  was  cut 
short  by  the  entry  of  a  little,  thin  woman,  with 
big  rings  round  her  eyes.  Mrs.  Vansuythen 
stood  up  with  a  gasp. 

"What  was  that  you  said?"  asked  Mrs*. 
Boulte.  "  Never  mind  that  man.  What  did  Ted 
say  to  you  ?  What  did  he  say  to  you  ?  What 
did  he  say  to  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Vansuythen  sat  down  helplessly  on  the 
sofa,  overborne  by  the  trouble  of  her  ques- 
tioner. 

"  He  said — I  can't  remember  exactly  what  he 
said — but  I  understood  him  to  say — that  is  —  But, 
really,  Mrs.  Boulte,  isn't  it  rather  a  strange  ques- 
tion ?" 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  he,  said?"  repeated 
Mrs.  Boulte.  Even  a  tiger  will  fly  before  a  bear 
robbed  of  her  whelps,  and  Mrs.  Vansuythen  was 
only  an  ordinarily  good  woman.  She  began  in  a 
sort  of  desperation:  "Well,  he  said  that  he  never 
cared  for  you  at  all,  and,  of  course,  there  was 


A  Wayside  Comedy  69 

not  the  least  reason  why  he  should  have,  and — 
and — that  was  all." 

"  You  said  he  swore  he  had  not  cared  for  me. 
Was  that  true?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vansuythen,  very  softly. 

Mrs.  Boulte  wavered  for  an  instant  where  she 
stood,  and  then  fell  forward  fainting. 

"  What  did  1  tell  you  ?"  said  Boulte,  as  though 
the  conversation  had  been  unbroken.  "You 
can  see  for  yourself.  She  cares  for  him."  The 
light  began  to  break  into  his  dull  mind,  and 
he  went  on — "And  he — what  was  he  saying  to 
you  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Vansuythen,  with  no  heart  for  expla- 
nations or  impassioned  protestations,  was  kneel- 
ing over  Mrs.  Boulte. 

"Oh,  you  brute!"  she  cried.  "Are  all  men 
like  this  ?  Help  me  to  get  her  into  my  room — 
and  her  face  is  cut  against  the  table.  Oh,  will 
you  be  quiet,  and  help  me  to  carry  her  ?  I  hate 
you,  and  I  hate  Captain  Kurrell.  Lift  her  up 
carefully  and  now — go!  Go  away!  " 

Boulte  carried  his  wife  into  Mrs.  Vansuythen's 
bedroom  and  departed  before  the  storm  of  that 
lady's  wrath  and  disgust,  impenitent  and  burn- 
ing with  jealousy.  Kurrell  had  been  making 
love  to  Mrs.  Vansuythen — would  do  Vansuythen 
as  great  a  wrong  as  he  had  done  Boulte,  who 
caught  himself  considering  whether  Mrs.  Van- 


TO  A  Wayside  Comedy 

suythen  would  faint  if  she  discovered  that  the 
man  she  loved  had  foresworn  her. 

In  the  middle  of  these  meditations,  Kurrell 
came  cantering  along  the  road  and  pulled  up  with 
a  cheery,  "  Good-mornin'.  'Been  mashing  Mrs. 
Vansuythen  as  usual,  eh  ?  Bad  thing  for  a  sober, 
married  man,  that.  What  will  Mrs.  Boulte  say  ?" 

Boulte  raised  his  head  and  said,  slowly,  "  Oh, 
you  liar!"  Kurrell's  face  changed.  "What's 
that  ?  "  he  asked,  quickly. 

"Nothing  much,"  said  Boulte.  "  Has  my  wife 
told  you  that  you  two  are  free  to  go  off  whenever 
you  please  ?  She  has  been  good  enough  to  ex- 
plain the  situation  to  me.  You've  been  a  true 
friend  to  me,  Kurrell — old  man — haven't  you  ?  " 

Kurrell  groaned,  and  tried  to  frame  some  sort 
of  idiotic  sentence  about  being  willing  to  give 
"satisfaction."  But  his  interest  in  the  woman 
was  dead,  had  died  out  in  the  Rains,  and,  men- 
tally, he  was  abusing  her  for  her  amazing  indis- 
cretion. It  would  have  been  so  easy  to  have 
broken  off  the  thing  gently  and  by  degrees,  and 
now  he  was  saddled  with  —  Boulte's  voice  re- 
called him. 

"I  don't  think  I  should  get  any  satisfaction 
from  killing  you,  and  I'm  pretty  sure  you'd  get 
none  from  killing  me." 

Then  in  a  querulous  tone,  ludicrously  dispro- 
portioned  to  his  wrongs,  Boulte  added  — 


A  Wayside  Comedy  71 

"  'Seems  rather  a  pity  that  you  haven't  the  de- 
cency to  keep  to  the  woman,  now  you've  got 
her.  You've  been  a  true  friend  to  her  too, 
haven't  you?" 

Kurrell  stared  long  and  gravely.  The  situation 
was  getting  beyond  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  said. 

Boulte  answered,  more  to  himself  than  the 
questioner:  "  My  wife  came  over  to  Mrs.  Van- 
suythen's  just  now;  and  it  seems  you'd  been  tell- 
ing Mrs.  Vansuythen  that  you'd  never  cared  for 
Emma.  I  suppose  you  lied,  as  usual.  What 
had  Mrs.  Vansuythen  to  do  with  you,  or  you 
with  her  ?  Try  to  speak  the  truth  for  once  in  a 
way." 

Kurrell  took  the  double  insult  without  wincing, 
and  replied  by  another  question :  "Go  on.  What 
happened  ?" 

"Emma  fainted,"  said  Boulte,  simply.  "  But, 
look  here,  what  had  you  been  saying  to  Mrs. 
Vansuythen  ?  " 

Kurrell  laughed.  Mrs.  Boulte  had,  with  un- 
bridled tongue,  made  havoc  of  his  plans;  and  he 
could  at  least  retaliate  by  hurting  the  man  in 
whose  eyes  he  was  humiliated  and  shown  dis- 
honorable. 

"  Said  to  her  ?  What  does  a  man  tell  a  lie  like 
that  for?  I  suppose  I  said  pretty  much  what 
you've  said,  unless  I'm  a  good  deal  mistaken. 


72  A  Wayside  Comedy 

"I  spoke  the  truth,"  said  Boulte,  again  more 
to  himself  than  Kurrell.  "Emma  told  me  she 
hated  me.  She  has  no  right  in  me." 

"No!  I  suppose  not.  You're  only  her  hus- 
band, y'know.  And  what  did  Mrs.  Vansuythen 
say  after  you  had  laid  your  disengaged  heart  at 
her  feet  ?  " 

Kurrell  felt  almost  virtuous  as  he  put  the  ques- 
tion. 

"I  don't  think  that  matters,"  Boulte  replied; 
"and  it  doesn't  concern  you." 

"But  it  does!  I  tell  you  it  does" — began 
Kurrell,  shamelessly. 

The  sentence  was  cut  by  a  roar  of  laughter 
from  Boulte's  lips.  Kurrell  was  silent  for  an  in- 
stant, and  then  he,  too,  laughed — laughed  long 
and  loudly,  rocking  in  his  saddle.  It  was  an  un- 
pleasant sound — the  mirthless  mirth  of  these  men 
on  the  long,  white  line  of  the  Narkarra  Road. 
There  were  no  strangers  in  Kashima,  or  they 
might  have  thought  that  captivity  within  the 
Dosehri  hills  had  driven  half  the  European  popu- 
lation mad.  The  laughter  ended  abruptly,  and 
Kurrell  was  the  first  to  speak.  , 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

Boulte  looked  up  the  road,  and  at  the  hills. 

'Nothing,"  said  he,  quietly;  "what's  the  use? 

It's  too  ghastly  for  anything.     We  must  let  the 

old  life  go  on.    I  can  only  call  you  a  hound  and 


A  Wayside  Comedy  73 

a  liar,  and  I  can't  go  on  calling  you  names  for- 
ever. Besides  which,  I  don't  feel  that  I'm  much 
better.  We  can't  get  out  of  this  place.  What  is 
there  to  do?" 

Kurrell  looked  round  the  rat-pit  of  Kashima 
and  made  no  reply.  The  injured  husband  took 
up  the  wondrous  tale. 

"  Ride  on,  and  speak  to  Emma  if  you  want  to. 
God  knows  /  don't  care  what  you  do." 

He  walked  forward,  and  left  Kurrell  gazing 
blankly  after  him.  Kurrell  did  not  ride  on  either 
to  see  Mrs.  Boulte  or  Mrs.  Vansuythen.  He  sat 
in  his  saddle  and  thought,  while  his  pony  grazed 
by  the  roadside. 

The  whir  of  approaching  wheels  roused  him. 
Mrs.  Vansuythen  was  driving  home  Mrs.  Boulte, 
white  and  wan,  with  a  cut  on  her  forehead. 

"Stop,  please,"  said  Mrs.  Boulte,  "I  want  to 
speak  to  Ted." 

Mrs.  Vansuythen  obeyed,  but  as  Mrs.  Boulte 
leaned  forward,  putting  her  hand  upon  the 
splash-board  of  the  dog-cart,  Kurrell  spoke. 

"I've  seen  your  husband,  Mrs.  Boulte." 

There  was  no  necessity  for  any  further  expla- 
nation. The  man's  eyes  were  fixed,  not  upon 
Mrs.  Boulte,  but  her  companion.  Mrs.  Boulte 
saw  the  look. 

"Speak  to  him!"  she  pleaded,  turning  to  the 
woman  at  her  side.  "  Oh,  speak  to  him!  Tell 


74  A  Wayside  Comedy 

him  what  you  told  me  just  now.  Tell  him  you 
hate  him.  Tell  him  you  hate  him ! " 

She  bent  forward  and  wept  bitterly,  while  the 
sais,  impassive,  went  forward  to  hold  the  horse. 
Mrs.  Vansuythen  turned  scarlet  and  dropped  the 
reins.  She  wished  to  be  no  party  to  such  unholy 
explanations. 

"  I've  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  she  began,  coldly; 
but  Mrs.  Boulte's  sobs  overcame  her,  and  she  ad- 
dressed herself  to  the  man.  "I  don't  know  what 
I  am  to  say,  Captain  Kurrell.  I  don't  know  what 
I  can  call  you.  I  think  you've — you've  behaved 
abominably,  and  she  has  cut  her  forehead  terri- 
bly against  the  table." 

"  It  doesn't  hurt.  It  isn't  anything,"  said  Mrs. 
Boulte,  feebly.  "  That  doesn't  matter.  Tell  him 
what  you  told  me.  Say  you  don't  care  for  him. 
Oh,  Ted,  won't  you  believe  her  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Boulte  has  made  me  understand  that 
you  were — that  you  were  fond  of  her  once  upon 
a  time,"  went  on  Mrs.  Vansuythen. 

"  Well! "  said  Kurrell,  brutally.  "  It  seems  to 
me  that  Mrs.  Boulte  had  better  be  fond  of  her 
own  husband  first." 

"Stop!"  said  Mrs.  Vansuythen.  "Hear  me 
first.  I  don't  care — I  don't  want  to  know  any- 
thing about  you  and  Mrs.  Boulte  ;  but  I  want 
you  to  know  that  I  hate  you,  that  I  think  you  are 
a  cur,  and  that  I'll  never,  never  speak  to  you 


A  Wayside  Comedy  75 

again.     Oh,  I  don't  dare  to  say  what  I  think  of 
you,  you — man!  " 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  Ted,"  moaned  Mrs.  Boulte, 
but  the  dog-cart  rattled  on,  and  Kurrell  was  left  on 
the  road,  shamed,  and  boiling  with  wrath  against 
Mrs.  Boulte. 

He  waited  till  Mrs.  Vansuythen  was  driving 
back  to  her  own  house,  and,  she  being  freed 
from  the  embarrassment  of  Mrs.  Boulte's  pres- 
ence, learned  for  the  second  time  her  opinion  of 
himself  and  his  actions. 

In  the  evenings,  it  was  the  wont  of  all  Kashima 
to  meet  at  the  platform  on  the  Narkarra  Road,  to 
drink  tea,  and  discuss  the  trivialities  of  the  day. 
Major  Vansuythen  and  his  wife  found  themselves 
alone  at  the  gathering-place  for  almost  the  first 
time  in  their  remembrance;  and  the  cheery  Major, 
in  the  teeth  of  his  wife's  remarkably  reasonable 
suggestion  that  the  rest  of  the  Station  might  be. 
sick,  insisted  upon  driving  round  to  the  two  bun- 
galows and  unearthing  the  population. 

"Sitting  in  the  twilight!"  said  he,  with  great 
indignation,  to  the  Boultes.  "That'll  never  do! 
Hang  it  all,  we're  one  family  here!  You  must 
come  out,  and  so  must  Kurrell.  I'll  make  him 
bring  his  banjo." 

So  great  is  the  power  of  honest  simplicity  and 
a  good  digestion  over  guilty  consciences  that  all 
Kashima  did  turn  out,  even  down  to  the  banjo; 


76  A  Wayside  Comedy 

and  the  Major  embraced  the  company  in  one  ex- 
pansive grin.  As  he  grinned,  Mrs.  Vansuythen 
raised  her  eyes  for  an  instant  and  looked  at  all 
Kashima.  Her  meaning  was  clear.  Major  Van- 
suythen would  never  know  anything.  He  was 
to  be  the  outsider  in  that  happy  family  whose 
cage  was  the  Dosehri  hills. 

"  You're  singing  villainously  out  of  tune,  Kur- 
rell,"  said  the  Major,  truthfully.  "  Pass  me  that 
banjo." 

And  he  sang  in  excruciating-wise  till  the  stars 
came  out  and  all  Kashima  went  to  dinner. 


That  was  the  beginning  of  the  New  Life  of 
Kashima — the  life  that  Mrs.  Boulte  made  when 
her  tongue  was  loosened  in  the  twilight. 

Mrs.  Vansuythen  has  never  told  the  Major; 
and  since  he  insists  upon  keeping  up  a  burden- 
some geniality,  she  has  been  compelled  to  break 
her  vow  of  not  speaking  to  Kurrell.  This  speech, 
which  must  of  necessity  preserve  the  semblance 
of  politeness  and  interest,  serves  admirably  to 
keep  alight  the  flame  of  jealousy  and  dull  hatred 
in  Boulte's  bosom,  as  it  awakens  the  same  pas- 
sions in  his  wife's  heart.  Mrs.  Boulte  hates  Mrs. 
Vansuythen  because  she  has  taken  Ted  from  her, 
and,  in  some  curious  fashion,  hates  her  because 
Mrs.  Vansuythen — and  here  the  wife's  eyes  see 


A  Wayside  Comedy  77 

far  more  clearly  than  the  husband's— detests  Ted. 
And  Ted — that  gallant  captain  and  honorable  man 
— knows  now  that  it  is  possible  to  hate  a  woman 
once  loved,  to  the  verge  of  wishing  to  silence  her 
forever  with  blows.  Above  all,  is  he  shocked 
that  Mrs.  Boulte  cannot  see  the  error  of  her  ways. 

Boulte  and  he  go  out  tiger-shooting  together  in 
all  friendship.  Boulte  has  put  their  relationship 
on  a  most  satisfactory  footing. 

"You're  a  blackguard,"  he  says  to  Kurrell, 
"and  I've  lost  any  self-respect  I  may  ever  have 
had;  but  when  you're  with  me,  I  can  feel  certain 
that  you  are  not  with  Mrs.  Vansuythen,  or  mak- 
ing Emma  miserable." 

Kurrell  endures  anything  that  Boulte  may  say 
to  him.  Sometimes  they  are  away  for  three 
days  together,  and  then  the  Major  insists  upon 
his  wife  going  over  to  sit  with  Mrs.  Boulte;  al- 
though Mrs.  Vansuythen  has  repeatedly  declared 
that  she  prefers  her  husband's  company  to  any  in 
the  world.  From  the  way  in  which  she  clings  to 
him,  she  would  certainly  seem  to  be  speaking  the 
truth. 

But  of  course,  as  the  Major  says,  "in  a  little 
Station  we  must  all  be  friendly." 


THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 


THE  HILL  OF  ILLUSION 

What  rendered  vain  their  deep  desire  ? 
A  God,  a  God  their  severance  ruled, 
And  bade  between  their  shores  to  be 
The  unplumbed,  salt,  estranging  sea. 

— Matthew  Arnold, 

HE.  Tell  your  jhampanis  not  to  hurry  so,  dear. 
They  forget  I'm  fresh  from  the  Plains. 

SHE.  Sure  proof  that  /  have  not  been  going 
out  with  any  one.  Yes,  they  are  an  untrained 
crew.  Where  do  we  go  ? 

HE.    As  usual — to  the  world's  end.    No,  Jakko. 

SHE.  Have  your  pony  led  after  you,  then.  It's 
a  long  round. 

HE.     And  for  the  last  time,  thank  Heaven  1 

SHE.  Do  you  mean  that  still  ?  I  didn't  dare  to 
write  to  you  about  it — all  these  months. 

HE.  Mean  it!  I've  been  shaping  my  affairs 
to  that  end  since  Autumn.  What  makes  you 
speak  as  though  it  had  occurred  to  you  for  the 
first  time  ? 

SHE.  I !  Oh!  I  don't  know.  I've  had  long 
enough  to  think,  too. 

HE.     And  you've  changed  your  mind  ? 

SHE.    No.    You  ought  to  know  that  I  am  a 

at 


82  The  Hill  of  Illusion 

miracle  of  constancy.  What  are  your — arrange- 
ments ? 

HE.     Ours,  Sweetheart,  please. 

SHE.  Ours,  be  it  then.  My  poor  boy,  how  the 
prickly  heat  has  marked  your  forehead!  Have 
you  ever  tried  sulphate  of  copper  in  water  ? 

HE.  It'll  go  away  in  a  day  or  two  up  here. 
The  arrangements  are  simple  enough.  Tonga  in 
the  early  morning — reach  Kalka  at  twelve — Um- 
balla  at  seven — down,  straight  by  night  train,  to 
Bombay,  and  then  the  steamer  of  the  2ist  for 
Rome.  That's  my  idea.  The  Continent  and 
Sweden — a  ten-week  honeymoon. 

SHE.  Ssh!  Don't  talk  of  it  in  that  way.  It 
makes  me  afraid.  Guy,  how  long  have  we  two 
been  insane  ? 

HE.  Seven  months  and  fourteen  days,  I  for- 
get the  odd  hours  exactly,  but  I'll  think. 

SHE.  I  only  wanted  to  see  if  you  remembered. 
Who  are  those  two  on  the  Blessington  Road  ? 

HE.  Eabrey  and  the  Penner  woman.  What 
do  they  matter  to  us  ?  Tell  me  everything  that 
you've  been  doing  and  saying  and  thinking. 

SHE.  Doing  little,  saying  Jess,  and  thinking  a 
great  deal.  I've  hardly  been  out  at  all. 

HE.  That  was  wrong  of  you.  You  haven't 
been  moping  ? 

SHE.  Not  very  much.  Can  you  wonder  that 
I'm  disinclined  for  amusement  ? 


The  Hill  of  Illusion  83 

HE.     Frankly,  I  do.   Where  was  the  difficulty  ? 

SHE.  In  this  only.  The  more  people  I  know 
and  the  more  I'm  known  here,  the  wider  spread 
will  be  the  news  of  the  crash  when  it  comes.  I 
don't  like  that. 

HE.    Nonsense.     We  shall  be  out  of  it. 

SHE.     You  think  so  ? 

HE.  I'm  sure  of  it,  if  there  is  any  power  in 
steam  or  horse-flesh  to  carry  us  away.  Ha!  ha! 

SHE.  And  the  fun  of  the  situation  comes  in— 
where,  my  Lancelot  ? 

HE.  Nowhere,  Guinevere.  I  was  only  think- 
ing of  something. 

SHE.  They  say  men  have  a  keener  sense  of 
humor  than  women.  Now  /  was  thinking  of  the 
scandal. 

HE.  Don't  think  of  anything  so  ugly.  We 
shall  be  beyond  it. 

SHE.  It  will  be  there  all  the  same — in  the 
mouths  of  Simla — telegraphed  over  India,  and 
talked  of  at  the  dinners — and  when  He  goes  out 
they  will  stare  at  Him  to  see  how  He  takes  it. 
And  we  shall  be  dead,  Guy  dear — dead  and  cast 
into  the  outer  darkness  where  there  is  — 

HE.     Love  at  least.     Isn't  that  enough  ? 

SHE.     I  have  said  so. 

HE.    And  you  think  so  still  ? 

SHE.     What  do  you  think  ? 

HE.     What  have  I  done  ?    It  means  equal  ruin 


84  The  Hill  of  Illusion 

to  me,  as  the  world  reckons  it — outcasting,  the 
loss  of  my  appointment,  the  breaking  off  my 
life's  work.  I  pay  my  price. 

SHE.  And  are  you  so  much  above  the  world 
that  you  can  afford  to  pay  it  ?  Am  I  ? 

HE.     My  Divinity — what  else  ? 

SHE.  A  very  ordinary  woman  I'm  afraid,  but, 
so  far,  respectable.  How'd  you  do,  Mrs.  Mid- 
dleditch  ?  Your  husband  ?  I  think  he's  riding 
down  to  Annandale  with  Colonel  Statters.  Yes, 
isn't  it  divine  after  the  rain  ? — Guy,  how  long  am 
1  to  be  allowed  to  bow  to  Mrs.  Middleditch  ?  Till 
the  i 7th  ? 

HE.  Frowsy  Scotchwoman?  What  is  the 
use  of  bringing  her  into  the  discussion?  You 
were  saying  ? 

SHE.  Nothing.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  man 
hanged  ? 

HE.    Yes.     Once. 

SHE.    What  was  it  for  ? 

HE.     Murder,  of  course. 

SHE.  Murder.  Is  that  so  great  a  sin  after  all  ? 
I  wonder  how  he  felt  before  the  drop  fell. 

HE.  I  don't  think  he  felt  much.  What  a  grue- 
some little  woman  it  is  this  evening  !  You're 
shivering.  Put  on  your  cape,  dear. 

SHE.  I  think  I  will.  Oh!  Look  at  the  mist 
coming  over  Sanjaoli;  and  I  thought  we  should 
have  sunshine  on  the  Ladies'  Mile !  Let's  turn  back. 


The  Hill  of  Illusion  85 

HE.  What's  the  good  ?  There's  a  cloud  on 
Elysium  Hill,  and  that  means  it's  foggy  all  down 
the  Mall.  We'll  go  on.  It'll  blow  away  before  we 
get  to  the  Convent,  perhaps.  'Jove!  It  is  chilly. 

SHE.  You  feel  it,  fresh  from  below.  Put  on 
your  ulster.  What  do  you  think  of  my  cape  ? 

HE.  Never  ask  a  man  his  opinion  of  a  woman's 
dress  when  he  is  desperately  and  abjectly  in  love 
with  the  wearer.  Let  me  look.  Like  everything 
else  of  yours  it's  perfect.  Where  did  you  get  it 
from  ? 

SHE.  He  gave  it  me,  on  Wednesday — our 
wedding-day,  you  know. 

HE.  The  Deuce  He  did!  He's  growing  gen- 
erous in  his  old  age.  D'you  like  all  that  frilly, 
bunchy  stuff  at  the  throat  ?  I  don't. 

SHE.    Don't  you  ? 

Kind  Sir,  o*  your  courtesy, 

As  you  go  by  the  town,  Sir, 
'Pray  you  o'  your  love  for  me, 

Buy  me  a  russet  gown,  Sir. 

HE.  I  won't  say:  "Keek  into  the  draw-well, 
Janet,  Janet."  Only  wait  a  little,  darling,  and  you 
shall  be  stocked  with  russet  gowns  and  every- 
thing else. 

SHE.  And  when  the  frocks  wear  out,  you'll 
get  me  new  ones — and  everything  else  ? 

HE.    Assuredly. 


86  The  Hill  of  Illusion 

SHE.    I  wonder! 

HE.  Look  here,  Sweetheart,  I  didn't  spend 
two  days  and  two  nights  in  the  train  to  hear  you 
wonder.  I  thought  we'd  settled  all  that  at 
Shaifazehat. 

SHE.  (dreamily.)  At  Shaifazehat?  Does  the 
Station  go  on  still  ?  That  was  ages  and  ages 
ago.  It  must  be  crumbling  to  pieces.  All  ex- 
cept the  Amirtollah  hutcha  road.  I  don't  believe 
that  could  crumble  till  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

HE.    You  think  so  ?    What  is  the  mood  now  ? 

SHE.  I  can't  tell.  How  cold  it  is !  Let  us  get 
on  quickly. 

HE.  'Better  walk  a  little.  Stop  your  jham- 
panis  and  get  out.  What's  the  matter  with  you 
this  evening,  dear  ? 

SHE.  Nothing.  You  must  grow  accustomed 
to  my  ways.  If  I'm  boring  you  I  can  go  home. 
Here's  Captain  Congleton  coming,  I  dare  say  he'll 
be  willing  to  escort  me. 

HE.  Goose!  Between  us,  tool  Damn  Cap- 
tain Congleton! 

SHE.  Chivalrous  Knight.  Is  it  your  habit  to 
swear  much  in  talking  ?  It  jars  a  little,  and  you 
might  swear  at  me. 

HE.  My  angel!  I  didn't  know  what  I  was 
saying;  and  you  changed  so  quickly  that  I  couldn't 
follow.  I'll  apologize  in  dust  and  ashes. 

SHE.    There'll  be  enough  of  those  later  on — 


The  Hill  of  Illusion  9? 

Good-night,  Captain  Congleton.  Going  to  the 
singing-quadrilles  already?  What  dances  am  I 
giving  you  next  week?  No!  You  must  have 
written  them  down  wrong.  Five  and  Seven,  / 
said.  If  you've  made  a  mistake,  I  certainly  don't 
intend  to  suffer  for  it.  You  must  alter  your 
programme. 

HE.  I  thought  you  told  me  that  you  had  not 
been  going  out  much  this  season  ? 

SHE.  Quite  true,  but  when  I  do  I  dance  with 
Captain  Congleton.  He  dances  very  nicely. 

HE.    And  sit  out  with  him,  I  suppose  ? 

SHE.  Yes.  Have  you  any  objection  ?  Shall  I 
stand  under  the  chandelier  in  future  ? 

HE.     What  does  he  talk  to  you  about  ? 

SHE.  What  do  men  talk  about  when  they  sit 
out? 

HE.  Ugh!  Don't!  Well  now  I'm  up,  you 
must  dispense  with  the  fascinating  Congleton  for 
a  while.  I  don't  like  him. 

SHE  (after  a  pause).  Do  you  know  what  you 
have  said  ? 

HE.  'Can't  say  that  I  do  exactly.  I'm  not  in 
the  best  of  tempers. 

SHE.  So  I  see, — and  feel.  My  true  and  faith- 
ful lover,  where  is  your  "eternal  constancy," 
"unalterable  trust,"  and  "reverent  devotion"? 
I  remember  those  phrases ;  you  seem  to  have  for- 
gotten them.  I  mention  a  man's  name  — 


88  The  Hill  of  Illusion 

HE.     A  good  deal  more  than  that. 

SHE.  Well,  speak  to  him  about  a  dance — per- 
haps the  last  dance  that  I  shall  ever  dance  in  my 
life  before  I, — before  I  go  away ;  and  you  at  once 
distrust  and  insult  me. 

HE.     I  never  said  a  word. 

SHE.  How  much  did  you  imply  ?  Guy,  is  this 
amount  of  confidence  to  be  our  stock  to  start  the 
new  life  on  ? 

HE.  No,  of  course  not.  I  didn't  mean  that. 
On  my  word  and  honor,  I  didn't.  Let  it  pass, 
dear.  Please  let  it  pass. 

SHE.  This  once — yes — and  a  second  time,  and 
again  and  again,  all  through  the  years  when  I 
shall  be  unable  to  resent  it.  You  want  too  much, 
my  Lancelot,  and, — you  know  too  much. 

HE.     How  do  you  mean  ? 

SHE.  That  is  a  part  of  the  punishment.  There 
cannot  be  perfect  trust  between  us. 

HE.     In  Heaven's  name,  why  not? 

SHE.  Hush  \  The  Other  Place  Is  quite  enough. 
Ask  yourself. 

HE.    I  don't  follow. 

SHE.  You  trust  me  so  implicitly  that  when  I 
look  at  another  man —  Never  mind,  Guy.  Have 
you  ever  made  love  to  a  girl — a  good  girl  ? 

HE.  Something  of  the  sort.  Centuries  ago — 
in  the  Dark  Ages,  before  I  ever  met  you,  dear. 

SHE.     Tell  me  what  you  said  to  her. 


The  Hill  of  Illusion  89 

HE.  What  does  a  man  say  to  a  girl  ?  I've  for- 
gotten. 

SHE.  /  remember.  He  tells  her  that  he  trusts 
her  and  worships  the  ground  she  walks  on,  and 
that  he'll  love  and  honor  and  protect  her  till  her 
dying  day;  and  so  she  marries  in  that  belief.  At 
least,  I  speak  of  one  girl  who  was  not  protected. 

HE.    Well,  and  then  ? 

SHE.  And  then,  Guy,  and  then,  that  girl  needs 
ten  times  the  love  and  trust  and  honor — yes,  honor 
— that  was  enough  when  she  was  only  a  mere 
wife  if — if — the  other  life  she  chooses  to  lead  is 
to  be  made  even  bearable.  Do  you  understand  ? 

HE.     Even  bearable!    It'll  be  Paradise. 

SHE.  Ah!  Can  you  give  me  all  I've  asked  for 
— not  now,  nor  a  few  months  later,  but  when 
you  begin  to  think  of  what  you  might  have  done 
if  you  had  kept  your  own  appointment  and  your 
caste  here — when  you  begin  to  look  upon  me  as 
a  drag  and  a  burden  ?  i  shall  want  it  most,  then, 
Guy,  for  there  will  be  no  one  in  the  wide  world 
but  you. 

HE.  You're  a  little  over-tired  to-night,  Sweet- 
heart, and  you're  taking  a  stage  view  of  the  sit- 
uation. After  the  necessary  business  in  the 
Courts,  the  road  is  clear  to  — 

SHE.  "The  holy  state  of  matrimony!"  Ha! 
ha!  ha! 

HE.    Ssh!    Don't  laugh  in  that  horrible  way! 


90  The  Hill  of  Illusion 

SHE,  I — I  c-c-c-can't  help  it!  Isn't  it  too  ab- 
surd! Ah!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Guy,  stop  me  quick 
or  I  shall — 1-1-laugh  till  we  get  to  the  Church. 

HE.  For  goodness'  sake,  stop!  Don't  make 
an  exhibition  of  yourself.  What  is  the  matter 
with  you  ? 

SHE.    N-nothing.     I'm  better  now. 

HE.  That's  all  right.  One  moment,  dear. 
There's  a  little  wisp  of  hair  got  loose  from  be- 
hind your  right  ear  and  it's  straggling  over  your 
cheek.  So! 

SHE.  Thank'oo.  I'm  'fraid  my  hat's  on  one 
side,  too. 

HE.  What  do  you  wear  these  huge  dagger 
bonnet-skewers  for  ?  They're  big  enough  to 
kill  a  man  with. 

SHE.  Oh!  Don't  kill  me,  though.  You're 
sticking  it  into  my  head!  Let  me  do  it.  You 
men  are  so  clumsy. 

HE.  Have  you  had  many  opportunities  of 
comparing  us — in  this  sort  of  work  ? 

SHE.     Guy,  what  is  my  name  ? 

HE.     Eh!    I  don't  follow. 

SHE.    Here's  my  cardcase.    Can  you  read  ? 

HE.     Yes.     Well  ? 

SHE.  Well,  that  answers  your  question.  You 
know  the  other  man's  name.  Am  I  sufficiently 
humbled,  or  would  you  like  to  ask  me  if  there  is 
any  one  else  ? 


The  Hill  of  Illusion  91 

HE.  I  see  now.  My  darling,  I  never  meant 
that  for  an  instant.  I  was  only  joking.  There! 
Lucky  there's  no  one  on  the  road.  They'd  be 
scandalized. 

SHE.  They'll  be  more  scandalized  before  the 
end. 

HE.  Do-on't!  I  don't  like  you  to  talk  in  that 
way. 

SHE.  Unreasonable  man!  Who  asked  me  to 
face  the  situation  and  accept  it  ? — Tell  me,  do  I 
look  like  Mrs.  Penner  ?  Do  I  look  like  a  naughty 
woman  ?  Swear  I  don't!  Give  me  your  word  of 
honor,  my  honorable  friend,  that  I'm  not  like 
Mrs.  Buzgago.  That's  the  way  she  stands,  with 
her  hands  clasped  at  the  back  of  her  head.  D'you 
like  that  ? 

HE.     Don't  be  affected. 

SHE.    I'm  not.    I'm  Mrs.  Buzgago.    Listen! 

Pendant  une  anne'  toute  entiere 
Le  regiment  n'a  pas  r'paru. 
Au  Ministere  de  la  Guerre 
On  le  r'porta  comme  perdu. 

On  se  r'noncait  a  r'trouver  sa  trace, 
Quand  un  matin  subitement, 
On  le  vit  r'paraitre  sur  la  place, 
L'Colonel  toujours  en  avant. 

That's  the  way  she  rolls  her  r's.    Am  I  like  her  ? 
HE.    No,  but  I  object  when  you  go  on  like  an 


92  The  Hill  of  Illusion 

actress  and  sing  stuff  of  that  kind.  Where  in 
the  world  did  you  pick  up  the  Chanson  du  Colo- 
nel ?  It  isn't  a  drawing-room  song.  It  isn't 
proper. 

SHE.  Mrs.  Buzgago  taught  it  me.  She  is 
both  drawing-room  and  proper,  and  in  another 
month  she'll  shut  her  drawing-room  to  me,  and 
thank  God  she  isn't  as  improper  as  I  am.  Oh, 
,Guy,  Guy!  I  wish  I  was  like  some  women  and 
had  no  scruples  about — what  is  it  Keene  says  ? — 
"Wearing  a  corpse's  hair  and  being  false  to  the 
bread  they  eat." 

HE.  I  am  only  a  man  of  limited  intelligence, 
and,  just  now,  very  bewildered.  When  you 
have  quite  finished  flashing  through  all  your 
moods  tell  me,  and  I'll  try  to  understand  the  last 
one. 

SHE.  Moods,  Guy!  I  haven't  any.  I'm  six- 
teen years  old  and  you're  just  twenty,  and  you've 
been  waiting  for  two  hours  outside  the  school  in 
the  cold.  And  now  I've  met  you,  and  now  we're 
walking  home  together.  Does  that  suit  you,  My 
Imperial  Majesty  ? 

HE.  No.  We  aren't  children.  Why  can't 
you  be  rational  ? 

SHE.  He  asks  me  that  when  I'm  going  to  com- 
mit suicide  for  his  sake,  and,  and — I  don't  want 
to  be  French  and  rave  about  my  mother,  but 
have  1  ever  told  you  that  I  have  a  mother,  and  a 


The  Hill  of  Illusion  93 

brother  who  was  my  pet  before  I  married  ?  He's 
married  now.  Can't  you  imagine  the  pleasure 
that  the  news  of  the  elopement  will  give  him  ? 
Have  you  any  people  at  Home,  Guy,  to  be 
pleased  with  your  performances  ? 

HE.  One  or  two.  One  can't  make  omelets 
without  breaking  eggs. 

SHE  (slowly),     I  don't  see  the  necessity  — 

HE.     Hah!    What  do  you  mean  ? 

SHE.     Shall  I  speak  the  truth  ? 

HE.  Under  the  circumstances,  perhaps  it  would 
be  as  well. 

SHE.    Guy,  I'm  afraid. 

HE.    I  thought  we'd  settled  all  that.    What  of  ? 

SHE.    Of  you. 

HE.  Oh,  damn  it  all!  The  old  business  1 
This  is  too  bad ! 

SHE.    Of  you. 

HE.    And  what  now  ? 

SHE.     What  do  you  think  of  me . 

HE.  Beside  the  question  altogether.  What  do 
you  intend  to  do  ? 

SHE.  I  daren't  risk  it.  I'm  afraid.  If  I  could 
only  cheat  — 

HE.  A  la  Bu^gago  ?  No,  thanks.  That's  the 
one  point  on  which  I  have  any  notion  of  Honor. 
I  won't  eat  his  salt  and  steal  too.  I'll  loot  openly 
or  not  at  all. 

SHE.    I  never  meant  anything  else. 


94  The  Hill  of  Illusion 

HE.  Then,  why  in  the  world  do  you  pretend 
not  to  be  willing  to  come  ? 

SHE.     It's  not  pretence,  Guy.     I  am  afraid. 

HE.     Please  explain. 

SHE.  It  can't  last,  Guy.  It  can't  last.  You'll 
get  angry,  and  then  you'll  swear,  and  then  you'll 
get  jealous,  and  then  you'll  mistrust  me — you  do 
now — and  you  yourself  will  be  the  best  reason  for 
doubting.  And  I — what  shall  /  do  ?  I  shall  be 
no  better  than  Mrs.  Buzgago  found  out — no  bet- 
ter than  any  one.  And  you'll  know  that.  Oh, 
Guy,  can't  you  see  ? 

HE.  I  see  that  you  are  desperately  unreason- 
able, little  woman. 

SHE.  There!  The  moment  I  begin  to  object, 
you  get  angry.  What  will  you  do  when  I  am 
only  your  property — stolen  property?  It  can't 
be,  Guy.  It  can't  be !  I  thought  it  could,  but  it 
can't  You'll  get  tired  of  me. 

HE.  I  tell  you  I  shall  not.  Won't  anything 
make  you  understand  that  ? 

SHE.  There,  can't  you  see  ?  If  you  speak  to 
me  like  that  now,  you'll  call  me  horrible  names 
later,  if  I  don't  do  everything  as, you  like.  And 
if  you  were  cruel  to  me,  Guy,  where  should  I  go 
— where  should  I  go  ?  I  can't  trust  you.  Oh !  I 
can't  trust  you! 

HE.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  say  that  I  can  trust 
you.  I've  ample  reason.  , 


The  Hill  of  Illusion  95 

SHE.  Please  don't,  dear.  It  hurts  as  much  as 
if  you  hit  me. 

HE.    It  isn't  exactly  pleasant  for  me. 

SHE.  I  can't  help  it  I  wish  I  were  dead!  I 
can't  trust  you,  and  I  don't  trust  myself.  Oh, 
Guy,  let  it  die  away  and  be  forgotten ! 

HE.  Too  late  now.  I  don't  understand  you — 
I  won't — and  I  can't  trust  myself  to  talk  this  even- 
ing. May  I  call  to-morrow  ? 

SHE.  Yes.  No!  Oh,  give  me  time!  The  day 
after.  I  get  into  my  'rickshaw  here  and  meet 
Him  at  Peliti's.  You  ride. 

HE.  I'll  go  on  to  Peliti's  too.  I  think  I  want 
a  drink.  My  world's  knocked  about  my  ears  and 
the  stars  are  falling.  Who  are  those  brutes  howl- 
ing in  the  Old  Library  ? 

SHE.  They're  rehearsing  the  singing-quadrilles 
for  the  Fancy  Ball.  Can't  you  hear  Mrs.  Buzga- 
go's  voice?  She  has  a  solo.  It's  quite  a  new 
idea.  Listen. 

MRS.  BUZGAGO  (in  the  Old  Library,  con.  molt, 
exp.). 

See  saw !  Margery  Daw  ! 
Sold  her  bed  to  lie  upon  straw. 
Wasn't  she  a  silly  slut 
To  sell  her  bed  and  lie  upon  dirt  ? 

Captain  Congleton,  I'm  going  to  alter  that  to 
"flirt."  It  sounds  better. 


96  The  Hill  of  Illusion 

HE.  No,  I've  changed  my  mind  about  the 
drink.  Good-night,  little  lady.  I  shall  see  you 
to-morrow  ? 

SHE.  Ye — es.  Good-night,  Guy.  Don't  be 
angry  with  me. 

HE.  Angry !  You  know  I  trust  you  absolutely. 
Good-night  and — God  bless  you! 

{Three  seconds  later.  Alone.)  Hmm!  I'd 
give  something  to  discover  whether  there's  an- 
other man  at  the  back  of  all  this. 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 


A  SECOND-RATE  WOMAN 

Est  fuga,  volvitur  rota, 

On  we  drift :  where  looms  the  dim  port  ? 
One  Two  Three  Four  Five  contribute  their  quota : 

Something  is  gained  if  one  caught  but  the  import, 
Show  it  us,  Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotha. 

— Master  Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotka. 

"pvRESSED!  Don't  tell  me  that  woman  ever 
L/  dressed  in  her  life.  She  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  while  her  ayah — no,  her 
husband — it  must  have  been  a  man — threw  her 
clothes  at  her.  She  then  did  her  hair  with  her 
fingers,  and  rubbed  her  bonnet  in  the  flue  under 
the  bed.  I  know  she  did,  as  well  as  if  I  had  as- 
sisted at  the  orgie.  Who  is  she?"  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee. 

"Don't!"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  feebly.  "You 
make  my  head  ache.  I'm  miserable  to-day.  Stay 
me  with  fondants,  comfort  me  with  chocolates, 
for  I  am —  Did  you  bring  anything  from 
Peliti's?" 

"Questions  to  begin  with.     You  shall  have 
the    sweets  when    you  have  answered    them. 
Who  and  what  is  the  creature  ?    There  were  at 
99 


ioo  A  Second-rate  Woman 

least  half  a  dozen  men  round  her,  and  she  ap- 
peared to  be  going  to  sleep  in  their  midst." 

"Delville,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  "'Shady'  Del- 
ville,  to  distinguish  her  from  Mrs.  Jim  of  that  ilk. 
She  dances  as  untidily  as  she  dresses,  I  believe, 
and  her  husband  is  somewhere  in  Madras.  Go 
and  call,  if  you  are  so  interested." 

"What  have  I  to  do  with  Shigramitish 
women  ?  She  merely  caught  my  attention  for  a 
minute,  and  I  wondered  at  the  attraction  that  a 
dowd  has  for  a  certain  type  of  man.  I  expected 
to  see  her  walk  out  of  her  clothes — until  I  looked 
at  her  eyes." 

"Hooks  and  eyes,  surely,"  drawled  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe. 

"Don't  be  clever,  Polly.  You  make  my  head 
ache.  And  round  this  hayrick  stood  a  crowd  of 
men — a  positive  crowd ! " 

"Perhaps  they  also  expected"  — 

"  Polly,  don't  be  Rabelaisian! " 

Mrs.  Mallowe  curled  herself  up  comfortably  on 
the  sofa,  and  turned  her  attention  to  the  sweets. 
She  and  Mrs.  Hauksbee  shared  the  same  house  at 
Simla;  and  these  things  befell  two  seasons  after 
the  matter  of  Otis  Yeere,  which  has  been  already 
recorded. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  stepped  into  the  veranda  and 
looked  down  upon  the  Mall,  her  forehead  puck- 
ered with  thought. 


A  Second-rate  Woman  101 

"Hah!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  shortly.  "In- 
deed!" 

"What  is  it?"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  sleepily. 

"That  dowd  and  The  Dancing  Master — to 
whom  I  object." 

"  Why  to  The  Dancing  Master  ?  He  is  a  mid- 
dle-aged gentleman,  of  reprobate  and  romantic 
tendencies,  and  tries  to  be  a  friend  of  mine." 

"Then  make  up  your  mind  to  lose  him. 
Dowds  cling  by  nature,  and  I  should  imagine 
that  this  animal — how  terrible  her  bonnet  looks 
from  above! — is  specially  clingsome." 

"  She  is  welcome  to  The  Dancing  Master  so  far 
as  I  am  concerned.  I  never  could  take  an  inter- 
est in  a  monotonous  liar.  The  frustrated  aim  of 
his  life  is  to  persuade  people  that  he  is  a  bach- 
elor." 

"O-oh!  I  think  I've  met  that  sort  of  man  be- 
fore. And  isn't  he  ?  " 

"No.  He  confided  that  to  me  a  few  days 
ago.  Ugh!  Some  men  ought  to  be  killed." 

"What  happened  then?" 

"  He  posed  as  the  horror  of  horrors — a  mis- 
understood man.  Heaven  knows  the  femme  in- 
comprise  is  sad  enough  and  bad  enough — but 
the  other  thing!" 

"And  so  fat  too!  /  should  have  laughed  in 
his  face.  Men  seldom  confide  in  me.  How  is  it 
they  come  to  you?" 


IO2  A  Second-rate  Woman 

"For  the  sake  of  impressing  me  with  their 
careers  in  the  past.  Protect  me  from  men  with 
confidences! " 

"  And  yet  you  encourage  them  ?" 

"What  can  I  do?  They  talk,  I  listen,  and 
they  vow  that  I  am  sympathetic.  I  know  I  al- 
ways profess  astonishment  even  when  the  plot  is 
— of  the  most  old  possible." 

"  Yes.  Men  are  so  unblushingly  explicit  if  they 
are  once  allowed  to  talk,  whereas  women's  confi- 
dences are  full  of  reservations  and  fibs,  except " — 

"When  they  go  mad  and  babble  of  the  Unut- 
terabilities  after  a  week's  acquaintance.  Really, 
if  you  come  to  consider,  we  know  a  great  deal 
more  of  men  than  of  our  own  sex." 

"And  the  extraordinary  thing  is  that  men  will 
never  believe  it.  They  say  we  are  trying  to  hide 
something." 

"They  are  generally  doing  that  on  their  own 
account.  Alas!  These  chocolates  pall  upon  me, 
and  I  haven't  eaten  more  than  a  dozen.  I  think  I 
shall  go  to  sleep." 

"Then  you'll  get  fat,  dear.  If  you  took  more 
exercise  and  a  more  intelligent -interest  in  your 
neighbors  you  would  " — 

"  Be  as  much  loved  as  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  You're 
a  darling  in  many  ways  and  I  like  you — you  are 
not  a  woman's  woman — but  why  do  you  trouble 
yourself  about  mere  human  beings  ?  " 


A  Second-rate  Woman  103 

"Because  in  the  absence  of  angels,  who  I  am 
sure  would  be  horribly  dull,  men  and  women  are 
the  most  fascinating  things  in  the  whole  wide 
world,  lazy  one.  I  am  interested  in  The  Dowd 
— I  am  interested  in  The  Dancing  Master — I  am 
interested  in  the  Hawley  Boy — and  I  am  inter- 
ested in  you." 

"Why  couple  me  with  the  Hawley  Boy  ?  He 
is  your  property." 

"Yes,  and  in  his  own  guileless  speech,  I'm 
making  a  good  thing  out  of  him.  When  he  is 
slightly  more  reformed,  and  has  passed  his 
Higher  Standard,  or  whatever  the  authorities 
think  fit  to  exact  from  him,  I  shall  select  a  pretty 
little  girl,  the  Holt  girl,  I  think,  and" — here  she 
waved  her  hands  airily — "'whom  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee  hath  joined  together  let  no  man  put  asun- 
der.' That's  all." 

"And  when  you  have  yoked  May  Holt  with 
the  most  notorious  detrimental  in  Simla,  and 
earned  the  undying  hatred  of  Mamma  Holt,  what 
will  you  do  with  me,  Dispenser  of  the  Destinies 
of  the  Universe?" 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  dropped  into  a  low  chair  in 
front  of  the  fire,  and,  chin  in  hand,  gazed  long 
and  steadfastly  at  Mrs.  Mallowe. 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head, 
"what  I  shall  do  with  you,  dear.  It's  obviously 
impossible  to  marry  you  to  some  one  else — your 


104  A  Second-rate  Woma,n 

husband  would  object  and  the  experiment  might 
not  be  successful  after  all.  I  think  I  shall  begin 
by  preventing  you  from — what. is  it? — 'sleeping 
on  ale-house  benches  and  snoring  in  the  sun.'  " 

"Don't!  I  don't  like  your  quotations.  They 
are  so  rude.  Go  to  the  Library  and  bring  me 
new  books." 

"While  you  sleep?  No!  If  you  don't  come 
with  me,  I  shall  spread  your  newest  frock  on  my 
'rickshaw-bow,  and  when  any  one  asks  me  what 
I  am  doing,  I  shall  say  that  I  am  going  to  Phelps's 
to  get  it  let  out.  I  shall  take  care  that  Mrs.  Mac- 
Namara  sees  me.  Put  your  things  on,  there's  a 
good  girl." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  groaned  and  obeyed,  and  the 
two  went  off  to  the  Library,  where  they  found 
Mrs.  Delville  and  the  man  who  went  by  the 
nickname  of  The  Dancing  Master.  By  that  time 
Mrs.  Mallowe  was  awake  and  eloquent. 

"That  is  the  Creature!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
with  the  air  of  one  pointing  out  a  slug  in  the 
road. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe.  "The  man  is  the 
Creature.  Ugh!  Good-evening,  Mr.  Bent.  I 
thought  you  were  coming  to  tea  this  evening." 

"Surely  it  was  for  to-morrow,  was  it  not?" 
answered  The  Dancing  Master.  "I  understood 
.  .  .  I  fancied  .  .  .  I'm  so  sorry  .  .  . 
How  very  unfortunate!"  .  .  . 


A  Second-rate  Woman  105 

But  Mrs.  Mallowe  had  passed  on. 

"For  the  practiced  equivocator  you  said  he 
was,"  murmured  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  "he  strikes  me 
as  a  failure.  Now  wherefore  should  he  have 
preferred  a  walk  with  The  Dowd  to  tea  with 
us  ?  Elective  affinities,  I  suppose — both  grubby. 
Polly,  I'd  never  forgive  that  woman  as  long  as 
the  world  rolls." 

"I  forgive  every  woman  everything,"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe.  "  He  will  be  a  sufficient  punish- 
ment for  her.  What  a  common  voice  she  has! " 

Mrs.  Delville's  voice  was  not  pretty,  her  car- 
riage was  even  less  lovely,  and  her  raiment  was 
strikingly  neglected.  All  these  things  Mrs.  Mal- 
lowe noticed  over  the  top  of  a  magazine. 

"  Now  what  is  there  in  her  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee. "  Do  you  see  what  I  meant  ?.bout  the 
clothes  falling  off?  If  I  were  a  man  I  would 
perish  sooner  than  be  seen  with  that  rag-bag. 
And  yet,  she  has  good  eyes,  but —  Oh!  " 

"What  is  it?" 

"  She  doesn't  know  how  to  use  them !  On  my 
Honor,  she  does  not.  Look!  Oh  look!  Untidi- 
ness I  can  endure,  but  ignorance  never!  The 
woman's  a  fool." 

"Hsh!    She'll  hear  you." 

"All  the  women  in  Simla  are  fools.  She'll 
think  I  mean  some  one  else.  Now  she's  going 
out.  What  a  thoroughly  objectionable  couple 


io6  A  Second-rate  Woman 

she  and  The  Dancing  Master  make !  Which  re- 
minds me.  Do  you  suppose  they'll  ever  dance 
together  ?  " 

"Wait  and  see.  I  don't  envy  her  the  conver- 
sation of  The  Dancing  Master — loathly  man !  His 
wife  ought  to  be  up  here  before  long." 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  him  ? " 

"Only  what  he  told  me.  It  may  be  all  a  fic- 
tion. He  married  a  girl  bred  in  the  country,  I 
think,  and,  being  an  honorable,  chivalrous  soul, 
told  me  that  he  repented  his  bargain  and  sent  her 
to  her  mother  as  often  as  possible — a  person  who 
has  lived  in  the  Doon  since  the  memory  of  man 
and  goes  to  Mussoorie  when  other  people  go 
Home.  The  wife  is  with  her  at  present.  So  he 
says." 

"Babies?" 

"  One  only,  but  he  talks  of  his  wife  in  a  revolt- 
ing way.  I  hated  him  for  it.  He  thought  he 
was  being  epigrammatic  and  brilliant." 

"That  is  a  vice  peculiar  to  men.  I  dislike  him 
because  he  is  generally  in  the  wake  of  some  girl, 
disappointing  the  Eligibles.  He  will  persecute 
May  Holt  no  more,  unless  I  am  much  mistaken." 

"No.  I  think  Mrs.  Delville  may  occupy  his 
attention  for  a  while." 

"Do  you  suppose  she  knows  that  he  is  the 
head  of  a  family?" 

"Not  from  his  lips.     He  swore  me  to  eternal 


A  Second-rate  Woman  107 

secrecy.  Wherefore  I  tell  you.  Don't  you  know 
that  type  of  man  ?  " 

"Not  intimately,  thank  goodness!  As  a  gen- 
eral rule,  when  a  man  begins  to  abuse  his  wife 
to  me,  I  find  that  the  Lord  gives  me  wherewith 
to  answer  him  according  to  his  folly;  and  we 
part  with  a  coolness  between  us.  I  laugh." 

"  I'm  different.     I've  no  sense  of  humor." 

"  Cultivate  it,  then.  It  has  been  my  mainstay 
for  more  years  than  I  care  to  think  about.  A 
well-educated  sense  of  Humor  will  save  a  woman 
when  Religion,  Training,  and  Home  influences 
fail;  and  we  may  all  need  salvation  sometimes." 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  the  Delville  woman  has 
humor?" 

"  Her  dress  beways  her.  How  can  a  Thing 
who  wears  her  supplement  under  her  left  arm 
have  any  notion  of  the  fitness  of  things — much 
less  their  folly  ?  If  she  discards  The  Dancing 
Master  after  having  once  seen  him  dance,  I  may 
respect  her.  Otherwise  " — 

"  But  are  we  not  both  assuming  a  great  deal 
too  much,  dear  ?  You  saw  the  woman  at  Peliti's 
— half  an  hour  later  you  saw  her  walking  with 
The  Dancing  Master — an  hour  later  you  met  her 
here  at  the  Library." 

"Still  with  The  Dancing  Master,  remember." 

"Still  with  The  Dancing  Master,  I  admit,  but 
why  on  the  strength  of  that  should  you  imagine  " — 


io8  A  Second-rate  Woman 

"I  imagine  nothing.  I  have  no  imagination. 
I  am  only  convinced  that  The  Dancing  Master  is 
attracted  to  The  Dowd  because  he  is  objection- 
able in  every  way  and  she  in  every  other.  If  I 
know  the  man  as  you  have  described  him,  he 
holds  his  wife  in  slavery  at  present." 

"She  is  twenty  years  younger  than  he." 

"Poor  wretch!  And,  in  the  end,  after  he  has 
posed  and  swaggered  and  lied — he  has  a  mouth 
under  that  ragged  moustache  simply  made  for  lies 
— he  will  be  rewarded  according  to  his  merits." 

"I  wonder  what  those  really  are,"  said  Mrs. 
Mallowe. 

But  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  her  face  close  to  the  shelf 
of  the  new  books,  was  humming  softly:  "  What 
shall  he  have  who  hilled  the  Deer!  "  She  was  a 
lady  of  unfettered  speech. 

One  month  later,  she  announced  her  intention 
of  calling  upon  Mrs.  Delville.  Both  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee and  Mrs.  Mallowe  were  in  morning  wrap- 
pers, and  there  was  a  great  peace  in  the  land. 

"1  should  go  as  I  was,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe. 
"  It  would  be  a  delicate  compliment  to  her  style." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  studied  herself  in  the  glass. 

"  Assuming  for  a  moment  that  she  ever  dark- 
ened these  doors,  I  should  put  on  this  robe,  after 
all  the  others,  to  show  her  what  a  morning  wrap- 
per ought  to  be.  It  might  enliven  her.  As  it  is, 
I  shall  go  in  the  dove-colored — sweet  emblem  of 


A  Second-rate  Woman  109 

youth  and  innocence — and  shall  put  on  my  new 
gloves." 

"If  you  really  are  going,  dirty  tan  would  be 
too  good;  and  you  know  that  dove-color  spots 
with  the  rain." 

"I  care  not.  I  may  make  her  envious.  At 
least  I  shall  try,  though  one  cannot  expect  very 
much  from  a  woman  who  puts  a  lace  tucker  into 
her  habit." 

"Just  Heavens!    When  did  she  do  that?" 

"  Yesterday — riding  with  The  Dancing  Master. 
I  met  them  at  the  back  of  Jakko,  and  the  rain 
had  made  the  lace  lie  down.  To  complete  the 
effect,  she  was  wearing  an  unclean  terai  with 
the  elastic  under  her  chin.  I  felt  almost  too  well 
content  to  take  the  trouble  to  despise  her." 

' '  The  Hawley  Boy  was  riding  with  you.  What 
did  he  think?" 

"  Does  a  boy  ever  notice  these  things  ?  Should 
I  like  him  if  he  did?  He  stared  in  the  rudest 
way,  and  just  when  I  thought  he  had  seen  the 
elastic,  he  said,  '  There's  something  very  taking 
about  that  face.'  I  rebuked  him  on  the  spot.  I 
don't  approve  of  boys  being  taken  by  faces." 

"  Other  than  your  own.  I  shouldn't  be  in  the 
least  surprised  if  the  Hawley  Boy  immediately 
went  to  call." 

"  I  forbade  him.  Let  her  be  satisfied  with  The 
Dancing  Master,  and  his  wife  when  she  comes 


no  A  Second-rate  Woman 

up.  I'm  rather  curious  to  see  Mrs.  Bent  and  the 
Delville  woman  together." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  departed  and,  at  the  end  of  an 
hour,  returned  slightly  flushed. 

"There  is  no  limit  to  the  treachery  of  youth! 
I  ordered  the  Hawley  Boy,  as  he  valued  my  pat- 
ronage, not  to  call.  The  first  person  I  stumble 
over — literally  stumble  over — in  her  poky,  dark, 
little  drawing-room  is,  of  course,  the  Hawley 
Boy.  She  kept  us  waiting  ten  minutes,  and  then 
emerged  as  though  she  had  been  tipped  out  of 
the  dirty-clothes  basket.  You  know  my  way, 
dear,  when  I  am  at  all  put  out.  1  was  Superior, 
crrrrushingly  Superior!  'Lifted  my  eyes  to 
Heaven,  and  had  heard  of  nothing — 'dropped  my 
eyes  on  the  carpet  and  '  really  didn't  know ' — 
'played  with  my  cardcase  and  'supposed  so.' 
The  Hawley  Boy  giggled  like  a  girl,  and  I  had  to 
freeze  him  with  scowls  between  the  sentences." 

"And  she?" 

"  She  sat  in  a  heap  on  the  edge  of  a  couch,  and 
managed  to  convey  the  impression  that  she  was 
suffering  from  stomach-ache,  at  the  very  least. 
It  was  all  I  could  do  not  to  ask  after  her  symp- 
toms. When  I  rose  she  grunted  just  like  a  buf- 
falo in  the  water — too  lazy  to  move." 

"  Are  you  certain  ?  " — 

"Am  I  blind,  Polly?  Laziness,  sheer  laziness, 
nothing  else — or  her  garments  were  only  con- 


A  Second-rate  Woman  in 

structed  for  sitting  down  in.  I  stayed  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  trying  to  penetrate  the  gloom, 
to  guess  what  her  surroundings  were  like,  while 
she  stuck  out  her  tongue." 

"Lu— cy!" 

"Well — I'll  withdraw  the  tongue,  though  I'm 
sure  if  she  didn't  do  it  when  I  was  in  the  room, 
she  did  the  minute  I  was  outside.  At  any  rate, 
she  lay  in  a  lump  and  grunted.  Ask  the  Hawley 
Boy,  dear.  I  believe  the  grunts  were  meant  for 
sentences,  but  she  spoke  so  indistinctly  that  I 
can't  swear  to  it." 

"You  are  incorrigible,  simply." 

"I  am  not!  Treat  me  civilly,  give  me  peace 
with  honor,  don't  put  the  only  available  seat  fac- 
ing the  window,  and  a  child  may  eat  jam  in  my 
lap  before  Church.  But  I  resent  being  grunted 
at.  Wouldn't  you?  Do  you  suppose  that  she 
communicates  her  views  on  life  and  love  to  The 
Dancing  Master  in  a  set  of  modulated  '  Grmphs '  ?  " 

"You  attach  too  much  importance  to  The 
Dancing  Master." 

"  He  came  as  we  went,  and  The  Dowd  grew 
almost  cordial  at  the  sight  of  him.  He  smiled 
greasily,  and  moved  about  that  darkened  dog- 
kennel  in  a  suspiciously  familiar  way." 

"Don't  be  uncharitable.  Any  sin  but  that  I'll 
forgive." 

"Listen  to  the  voice  of  History.    I  am  only 


112  A  Second-rate  Woman 

describing  what  I  saw.  He  entered,  the  heap  on 
the  sofa  revived  slightly,  and  the  Hawley  Boy  and 
I  came  away  together.  He  is  disillusioned,  but  I 
felt  it  my  duty  to  lecture  him  severely  for  going 
there.  And  that's  all." 

"Now  for  Pity's  sake  leave  the  wretched  crea- 
ture and  The  Dancing  Master  alone.  They  never 
did  you  any  harm." 

"No  harm?  To  dress  as  an  example  and  a 
stumbling-block  for  half  Simla,  and  then  to  find 
this  Person  who  is  dressed  by  the  hand  of  God — 
not  that  I  wish  to  disparage  Him  for  a  moment, 
but  you  know  the  tikka  dhurrie  way  He  attires 
those  lilies  of  the  field — this  Person  draws  the 
eyes  of  men — and  some  of  them  nice  men  ?  It's 
almost  enough  to  make  one  discard  clothing.  I 
told  the  Hawley  Boy  so." 

"And  what  did  that  sweet  youth  do  ?" 

"Turned  shell-pink  and  looked  across  the  far 
blue  hills  like  a  distressed  cherub.  Am  I  talking 
wildly,  Polly  ?  Let  me  say  my  say,  and  I  shall 
be  calm.  Otherwise  I  may  go  abroad  and  dis- 
turb Simla  with  a  few  original  reflections.  Ex- 
cepting always  your  own  sweet  self,  there  isn't 
a  single  woman  in  the  land  who  understands  me 
when  I  am — what's  the  word  ?  " 

"  Tete-ftt6e"  suggested  Mrs.  Mallowe. 

"Exactly!  And  now  let  us  have  tiffin  The 
demands  of  Society  are  exhausting,  and  as  Mrs. 


A  Second-rate  Woman  \\$ 

Delville  says" —  Here  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  to  the 
horror  of  the  hhitmatgars,  lapsed  into  a  series  of 
grunts,  while  Mrs.  Mallowe  stared  in  lazy  surprise. 

"'God  gie  us  a  gude  conceit  of  oorselves,"1 
said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  piously,  returning  to  her  nat- 
ural speech.  "Now,  in  any  other  woman  that 
would  have  been  vulgar.  I  am  consumed  with 
curiosity  to  see  Mrs.  Bent.  I  expect  complica- 
tions." 

"Woman  of  one  idea,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
shortly;  "all  complications  are  as  old  as  the 
hills !  I  have  lived  through  or  near  all — all — ALL!  " 

"And  yet  do  not  understand  that  men  and 
women  never  behave  twice  alike.  I  am  old  who 
was  young — if  ever  I  put  my  head  in  your  lap, 
you  dear,  big  sceptic,  you  will  learn  that  my 
parting  is  gauze — but  never,  no  never,  have  I  lost 
my  interest  in  men  and  women.  Polly,  I  shall 
see  this  business  out  to  the  bitter  end." 

"I  am  going  to  sleep,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
calmly.  "I  never  interfere  with  men  or  women 
unless  I  am  compelled,"  and  she  retired  with 
dignity  to  her  own  room. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  curiosity  was  not  long  left 
ungratified,  for  Mrs.  Bent  came  up  to  Simla  a 
few  days  after  the  conversation  faithfully  re- 
ported above,  and  pervaded  the  Mall  by  her  hus- 
band's side. 

"Behold!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  thoughtfully 


114  A  Second-rate  Woman 

rubbing  her  nose.  "That  is  the  last  link  of  the 
chain,  if  we  omit  the  husband  of  the  Delville, 
whoever  he  may  be.  Let  me  consider.  The 
Bents  and  the  Delvilles  inhabit  the  same  hotel; 
and  the  Delville  is  detested  by  the  Waddy — do 
you  know  the  Waddy  ? — who  is  almost  as  big  a 
dowd.  The  Waddy  also  abominates  the  male 
Bent,  for  which,  if  her  other  sins  do  not  weigh 
too  heavily,  she  will  eventually  go  to  Heaven." 

"Don't  be  irreverent,"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  "I 
like  Mrs.  Bent's  face." 

"I  am  discussing  the  Waddy,"  returned  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  loftily.  "The  Waddy  will  take  the 
female  Bent  apart,  after  having  borrowed — yes ! — 
everything  that  she  can,  from  hairpins  to  babies' 
bottles.  Such,  my  dear,  is  life  in  a  hotel.  The 
Waddy  will  tell  the  female  Bent  facts  and  fictions 
about  The  Dancing  Master  and  The  Dowd." 

"  Lucy,  I  should  like  you  better  if  you  were  not 
always  looking  into  people's  back-bed-rooms." 

"Anybody  can  look  into  their  front  drawing- 
rooms;  and  remember  whatever  I  do,  and  what- 
ever I  look,  I  never  talk — as  the  Waddy  will. 
Let  us  hope  that  The  Dancing  Master's  greasy 
smile  and  manner  of  the  pedagogue  will  soften 
the  heart  of  that  cow,  his  wife.  If  mouths  speak 
truth,  I  should  think  that  little  Mrs.  Bent  could 
get  very  angry  on  occasion." 

41  But  what  reason  has  she  for  being  angry  ?" 


A  Second-rate  Woman  115 

"What  reason!  The  Dancing  Master  in  him- 
self is  a  reason.  How  does  it  go  ?  '  If  in  his 
life  some  trivial  errors  fall,  Look  in  his  face  and 
you'll  believe  them  all.'  I  am  prepared  to  credit 
any  evil  of  The  Dancing  Master,  because  I  hate 
him  so.  And  The  Dowd  is  so  disgustingly  badly 
dressed  " — 

"That  she,  too,  is  capable  of  every  iniquity? 
I  always  prefer  to  believe  the  best  of  everybody. 
It  saves  so  much  trouble." 

"Very  good.  I  prefer  to  believe  the  worst. 
It  saves  useless  expenditure  of  sympathy.  And 
you  may  be  quite  certain  that  the  Waddy  believes 
with  me." 

Mrs.  Mallowe  sighed  and  made  no  answer. 

The  conversation  was  holden  after  dinner 
while  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  dressing  for  a  dance. 

"  I  am  too  tired  to  go,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
and  Mrs.  Hauksbee  left  her  in  peace  till  two  in 
the  morning,  when  she  was  aware  of  emphatic 
knocking  at  her  door. 

"  Don't  be  -very  angry,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee. "  My  idiot  of  an  ayah  has  gone  home,  and, 
as  I  hope  to  sleep  to-night,  there  isn't  a  soul  in 
the  place  to  unlace  me." 

"Oh,  this  is  too  bad!"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe, 
sulkily. 

"  'Can't  help  it.  I'm  a  lone,  lorn  grass-widow, 
dear,  but  I  will  not  sleep  in  my  stays.  And  such 


n6  A  Second-rate  Woman 

news,  too!  Oh,  do  unlace  me,  there's  a  darling! 
The  Dowd — The  Dancing  Master — I  and  the 
Hawley  Boy —  You  know  the  North  veranda  ?" 

"How  can  I  do  anything  if  you  spin  round 
like  this?"  protested  Mrs.  Mallowe,  fumbling 
with  the  knot  of  the  laces. 

"Oh,  I  forget.  I  must  tell  my  tale  without  the 
aid  of  your  eyes.  Do  you  know  you've  lovely 
eyes,  dear?  Well,  to  begin  with,  I  took  the 
Hawley  Boy  to  a  hala  juggah." 

"  Did  he  want  much  taking  ?  " 

"Lots!  There  was  an  arrangement  of  loose- 
boxes  in  kanats,  and  she  was  in  the  next  one 
talking  to  him." 

"Which?    How?    Explain." 

"You  know  what  I  mean — The  Dowd  and 
The  Dancing  Master  We  could  hear  every  word, 
and  we  listened  shamelessly — 'specially  the  Haw- 
lew  Boy.  Polly,  I  quite  love  that  woman!" 

"  This  is  interesting.  There!  Now  turn  round. 
What  happened?" 

"One  moment.  Ah — h!  Blessed  relief.  I've 
been  looking  forward  to  taking  them  off  for  the 
last  half-hour — which  is  ominous  at  my  time  of 
life.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  we  listened  and  heard 
The  Dowd  drawl  worse  than  ever.  She  drops 
her  final  g's  like  a  barmaid  or  a  blue-blooded 
Aide-de-Camp.  '  Look  he-ere,  you're  gettin' 
too  fond  o'  me,'  she  said,  and  The  Dancing  Mas- 


A  Second-rate  Woman  117 

ter  owned  it  was  so  in  language  that  nearly  made 
me  ill.  The  Dowd  reflected  for  a  while.  Then 
we  heard  her  say,  'Look  he-ere,  Mister  Bent, 
why  are  you  such  an  aw-ful  liar  ? '  I  nearly  ex- 
ploded while  The  Dancing  Master  denied  the 
charge.  It  seems  that  he  never  told  her  he  was 
a  married  man." 

"I  said  he  wouldn't." 

"  And  she  had  taken  this  to  heart,  on  personal 
grounds,  I  suppose.  She  drawled  along  for  five 
minutes,  reproaching  him  with  his  perfidy  and 
grew  quite  motherly.  '  Now  you've  got  a  nice 
little  wife  of  your  own — you  have,'  she  said. 
'  She's  ten  times  too  good  for  a  fat  old  man  like 
you,  and,  look  he-ere,  you  never  told  me  a  word 
about  her,  and  I've  been  thinkin'  about  it  a  good 
deal,  and  I  think  you're  a  liar.'  Wasn't  that  de- 
licious ?  The  Dancing  Master  maundered  and 
raved  till  the  Hawley  Boy  suggested  that  he 
should  burst  in  and  beat  him.  His  voice  runs  up 
into  an  impassioned  squeak  when  he  is  afraid. 
The  Dowd  must  be  an  extraordinary  woman. 
She  explained  that  had  he  been  a  bachelor  she 
might  not  have  objected  to  his  devotion  ;  but 
since  he  was  a  married  man  and  the  father  of  a 
very  nice  baby,  she  considered  him  a  hypocrite, 
and  this  she  repeated  twice.  She  wound  up  her 
drawl  with  :  '  An'  I'm  tellin'  you  this  because 
your  wife  is  angry  with  me,  an'  I  hate  quarreilin' 


n8  A  Second-rate  Woman 

with  any  other  woman,  an'  I  like  your  wife. 
You  know  how  you  have  behaved  for  the  last 
six  weeks.  You  shouldn't  have  done  it,  indeed 
you  shouldn't.  You're  too  old  an'  too  fat.' 
Can't  you  imagine  how  The  Dancing  Master 
would  wince  at  that!  '  Now  go  away,'  she  said. 
'  I  don't  want  to  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you, 
because  I  think  you  are  not  nice.  I'll  stay  he-ere 
till  the  next  dance  begins.'  Did  you  think  that 
the  creature  had  so  much  in  her?" 

"I  never  studied  her  as  closely  as  you  did.  It 
sounds  unnatural.  What  happened?" 

"The  Dancing  Master  attempted  blandish- 
ment, reproof,  jocularity,  and  the  style  of  the 
Lord  High  Warden,  and  I  had  almost  to  pinch 
the  Hawley  Boy  to  make  him  keep  quiet.  She 
grunted  at  the  end  of  each  sentence  and,  in  the 
end  he  went  away  swearing  to  himself,  quite 
like  a  man  in  a  novel.  He  looked  more  objec- 
tionable than  ever.  I  laughed.  I  love  that 
woman — in  spite  of  her  clothes.  And  now  I'm 
going  to  bed.  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"I  sha'n't  begin  to  think  till  the  morning,"  said 
Mrs.  Mallowe,  yawning.  "  Perhaps  she  spoke 
the  truth.  They  do  fly  into  it  by  accident  some- 
times." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  account  of  her  eavesdropping 
was  an  ornate  one  but  truthful  in  the  main. 
For  reasons  best  known  to  herself,  Mrs. "Shady" 


Copyright,  1899,  by  H.  M.  Caldwell  Co. 

" '  You're  too  old  an'  too  fat.'  " 


A  Second-rate  Woman  119 

Delville  had  turned  upon  Mr.  Bent  and  rent  him 
limb  from  limb,  casting  him  away  limp  and  dis- 
concerted ere  she  withdrew  the  light  of  her  eyes 
from  him  permanently.  Being  a  man  of  resource, 
and  anything  but  pleased  in  that  he  had  been 
called  both  old  and  fat,  he  gave  Mrs.  Bent  to  un- 
derstand that  he  had,  during  her  absence  in  the 
Doon,  been  the  victim  of  unceasing  persecution 
at  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Delville,  and  he  told  the  tale 
so  often  and  with  such  eloquence  that  he  ended 
in  believing  it,  while  his  wife  marvelled  at  the 
manners  and  customs  of  "some  women." 
When  the  situation  showed  signs  of  languishing, 
Mrs.  Waddy  was  always  on  hand  to  wake  the 
smouldering  fires  of  suspicion  in  Mrs.  Bent's 
bosom  and  to  contribute  generally  to  the  peace 
and  comfort  of  the  hotel.  Mr.  Bent's  life  was 
not  a  happy  one,  for  if  Mrs.  Waddy's  story  were 
true,  he, was,  argued  his  wife,  untrustworthy  to 
the  last  degree.  If  his  own  statement  was  true, 
his  charms  of  manner  and  conversation  were  so 
great  that  he  needed  constant  surveillance.  And 
he  received  it,  till  he  repented  genuinely  of  his 
marriage  and  neglected  his  personal  appearance. 
Mrs.  Delville  alone  in  the  hotel  was  unchanged. 
She  removed  her  chair  some  six  paces  toward 
the  head  of  the  table,  and  occasionally  in  the 
twilight  ventured  on  timid  overtures  of  friend- 
ship to  Mrs.  Bent,  which  were  repulsed. 


I2O  A  Second-rate  Woman 

"  She  does  it  for  my  sake,"  hinted  the  virtuous 
Bent. 

"A  dangerous  and  designing  woman,"  purred 
Mrs.  Waddy. 

Worst  of  all,  every  other  hotel  in  Simla  was 
fulll 


"  Polly,  are  you  afraid  of  diphtheria  ?" 

"Of  nothing  in  the  world  except  smallpox. 
Diphtheria  kills,  but  it  doesn't  disfigure.  Why 
do  you  ask  ?  " 

"Because  the  Bent  baby  has  got  it,  and  the 
whole  hotel  is  upside  down  in  consequence.  The 
Waddy  has  "set  her  five  young  on  the  rail "  and 
fled.  The  Dancing  Master  fears  for  his  precious 
throat,  and  that  miserable  little  woman,  his  wife, 
has  no  notion  of  what  ought  to  be  done.  She 
wanted  to  put  it  into  a  mustard  bath — for 
croup!" 

"  Where  did  you  learn  all  this  ?  " 

"  Just  now,  on  the  Mall.  Dr.  Howlen  told  me. 
The  Manager  of  the  hotel  is  abusing  the  Bents, 
and  the  Bents  are  abusing  the  manager.  They 
are  a  feckless  couple." 

"  Well.    What's  on  your  mind  ?  " 

"This;  and  I  know  it's  a  grave  thing  to  ask. 
Would  you  seriously  object  to  my  bringing  the 
child  over  here,  with  its  mother?" 


A  Second-rate  Woman  121 

11  On  the  most  strict  understanding  that  we  see 
nothing  of  The  Dancing  Master." 

"  He  will  be  only  too  glad  to  stay  away. 
Polly,  you're  an  angel.  The  woman  really  is  at 
her  wits'  end." 

"And  you  know  nothing  about  her,  careless, 
and  would  hold  her  up  to  public  scorn  if  it  gave 
you  a  minute's  amusement.  Therefore  you  risk 
your  life  for  the  sake  of  her  brat.  No,  Loo,  I'm 
not  the  angel.  I  shall  keep  to  my  rooms  and 
avoid  her.  But  do  as  you  please — only  tell  me 
why  you  do  it." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee's  eyes  softened;  she  looked  out 
of  the  window  and  back  into  Mrs.  Mallowe's 
face. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  simply. 

"You  dear!" 

"Polly! — and  for  aught  you  knew  you  might 
have  taken  my  fringe  off.  Never  do  that  again 
without  warning.  Now  we'll  get  the  rooms 
ready.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  be  allowed  to  cir- 
culate in  society  for  a  month." 

"And  I  also.  Thank  goodness  I  shall  at  last 
get  all  the  sleep  I  want." 

Much  to  Mrs.  Bent's  surprise  she  and  the  baby 
were  brought  over  to  the  house  almost  before  she 
knew  where  she  was.  Bent  was  devoutly  and 
undisguisedly  thankful,  for  he  was  afraid  of  the 
infection,  and  also  hoped  that  a  few  weeks  in  the 


122  A  Second-rate  Woman 

hotel  alone  with  Mrs.  Delville  might  lead  to  ex- 
planations. Mrs.  Bent  had  thrown  her  jealousy 
to  the  winds  in  her  fear  for  her  child's  life. 

"We  can  give  you  good  milk,"  said  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  to  her,  "and  our  house  is  much  nearer 
to  the  Doctor's  than  the  hotel,  and  you  won't  feel 
as  though  you  were  living  in  a  hostile  camp. 
Where  is  the  dear  Mrs.  Waddy  ?  She  seemed  to 
be  a  particular  friend  of  yours." 

"They've  all  left  me,"  said  Mrs.  Bent,  bitterly. 
"  Mrs.  Waddy  went  first.  She  said  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  myself  for  introducing  diseases  there, 
and  I  am  sure  it  wasn't  my  fault  that  little 
Dora  " — 

"How  nice!"  cooed  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  "The 
Waddy  is  an  infectious  disease  herself — 'more 
quickly  caught  than  the  plague  and  the  taker  runs 
presently  mad.'  I  lived  next  door  to  her  at  the 
Elysium,  three  years  ago.  Now  see,  you  won't 
give  us  the  least  trouble,  and  I've  ornamented  all 
the  house  with  sheets  soaked  in  carbolic.  It 
smells  comforting,  doesn't  it  ?  Remember  I'm  al- 
ways in  call,  and  my  ayah's  at  your  service  when 
yours  goes  to  her  meals  and — and — if  you  cry  I'll 
never  forgive  you." 

Dora  Bent  occupied  her  mother's  unprofitable 
attention  through  the  day  and  the  night.  The 
Doctor  called  thrice  in  the  twenty-four  hours,  and 
the  house  reeked  with  the  smell  of  the  Condy's 


A  Second-rate  Woman  123 

Fluid,  chlorine-water,  and  carbolic  acid  washes. 
Mrs.  Mallowe  kept  to  her  own  rooms — she  con- 
sidered that  she  had  made  sufficient  concessions 
in  the  cause  of  humanity— and  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
was  more  esteemed  by  the  Doctor  as  a  help  in 
the  sick-room  than  the  half-distraught  mother. 

"I  know  nothing  of  illness,"  said  Mrs.  Hauks- 
bee to  the  Doctor.  "Only  tell  me  what  to  do, 
and  I'll  do  it." 

"Keep  that  crazy  woman  from  kissing  the 
child,  and  let  her  have  as  little  to  do  with  the 
nursing  as  you  possibly  can,"  said  the  Doctor; 
"I'd  turn  her  out  of  the  sick-room,  but  that  I 
honestly  believe  she'd  die  of  anxiety.  She  is  less 
than  no  good,  and  I  depend  on  you  and  the 
ayahs,  remember." 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  accepted  the  responsibility, 
though  it  painted  olive  hollows  under  her  eyes 
and  forced  her  to  her  oldest  dresses.  Mrs.  Bent 
clung  to  her  with  more  than  childlike  faith. 

"  1  know  you'll  make  Dora  well,  won't  you  ?  " 
she  said  at  least  twenty  times  a  day;  and  twenty 
times  a  day  Mrs.  Hauksbee  answered  valiantly, 
"Of  course  I  will." 

But  Dora  did  not  improve,  and  the  Doctor 
seemed  to  be  always  in  the  house. 

"There's  some  danger  of  the  thing  taking  a  bad 
turn,"  he  said ;  "  I'll  come  over  between  three  and 
four  in  the  morning  to-morrow." 


124  A  Second-rate  Woman 

"Good  gracious!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  "He 
never  told  me  what  the  turn  would  be!  My 
education  has  been  horribly  neglected;  and  I 
have  only  this  foolish  mother-woman  to  fall  back 
upon." 

The  night  wore  through  slowly,  and  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  dozed  in  a  chair  by  the  fire.  There 
was  a  dance  at  the  Viceregal  Lodge,  and  she 
dreamed  of  it  till  she  was  aware  of  Mrs.  Bent's 
anxious  eyes  staring  into  her  own. 

"Wake  up!  Wake  up!  Do  something!" 
cried  Mrs.  Bent,  piteously.  "Dora's  choking  to 
death !  Do  you  mean  to  let  her  die  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  jumped  to  her  feet  and  bent 
over  the  bed.  The  child  was  fighting  for  breath, 
while  the  mother  wrung  her  hands  despairing. 

"Oh,  what  can  I  do?  What  can  you  do? 
She  won't  stay  still!  I  can't  hold  her.  Why 
didn't  the  Doctor  say  this  was  coming?" 
screamed  Mrs.  Bent.  "  Won't  you  help  me  ? 
She's  dying! " 

"  I — I've  never  seen  a  child  die  before!  "  stam- 
mered Mrs.  Hauksbee,  feebly,  and  then — let  none 
blame  her  weakness  after  the  strain  of  long 
watching — she  broke  down,  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  The  ayahs  on  the  threshold 
snored  peacefully. 

There  was  a  rattle  of  'rickshaw  wheels  below, 
the  clash  of  an  opening  door,  a  heavy  step  on  the 


A  Second-rate  Woman  125 

stairs,  and  Mrs.  Delville  entered  to  find  Mrs.  Bent 
screaming  for  the  Doctor  as  she  ran  round  the 
room.  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  her  hands  to  her  ears, 
and  her  face  buried  in  the  chintz  of  a  chair,  was 
quivering  with  pain  at  each  cry  from  the  bed, 
and  murmuring,  "Thank  God,  I  never  bore  a 
child!  Oh!  thank  God,  I  never  bore  a  child!  " 

Mrs.  Delville  looked  at  the  bed  for  an  instant, 
took  Mrs.  Bent  by  the  shoulders,  and  said,  quietly, 
"  Get  me  some  caustic.  Be  quick." 

The  mother  obeyed  mechanically.  Mrs.  Del- 
ville had  thrown  herself  down  by  the  side  of  the 
child  and  was  opening  its  mouth. 

"Oh,  you're  killing  her!"  cried  Mrs.  Bent. 
"Where's  the  Doctor ?  Leave  her  alone!  " 

Mrs.  Delville  made  no  reply  for  a  minute,  but 
busied  herself  with  the  child. 

"Now  the  caustic,  and  hold  a  lamp  behind  my 
shoulder.  Will  you  do  as  you  are  told  ?  The 
acid-bottle,  if  you  don't  know  what  I  mean,"  she 
said. 

A  second  time  Mrs.  Delville  bent  over  the  child. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee,  her  face  still  hidden,  sobbed  and 
shivered.  One  of  the  ayahs  staggered  sleepily 
into  the  room,  yawning:  "  Doctor  Sahib  come." 

Mrs.  Delville  turned  her  head. 

"  You're  only  just  in  time,"  she  said.  "  It  was 
chokin'  her  when  I  came  an'  I've  burned  it." 

"  There  was  no  sign  of  the  membrane  getting 


126  A  Second-rate  Woman 

to  the  air-passages  after  the  last  steaming.  It 
was  the  general  weakness,  1  feared,"  said  the 
Doctor  half  to  himself,  and  he  whispered  as  he 
looked,  "You've  done  what  I  should  have  been 
afraid  to  do  without  consultation." 

"She  was  dyin',"  said  Mrs.  Delville,  under  her 
breath.  "  Can  you  do  anythin'  ?  What  a  mercy 
it  was  I  went  to  the  dance! " 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  raised  her  head. 

"Is  it  all  over?"  she  gasped.  "I'm  useless — 
I'm  worse  than  useless!  What  are  you  doing 
here  ?  " 

She  stared  at  Mrs.  Delville,  and  Mrs.  Bent,  real- 
izing for  the  first  time  who  was  the  Goddess  from 
the  Machine,  stared  also. 

Then  Mrs.  Delville  made  explanation,  putting 
on  a  dirty  long  glove  and  smoothing  a  crumpled 
and  ill-fitting  ball-dress. 

"I  was  at  the  dance,  an'  the  Doctor  was  tellin' 
me  about  your  baby  bein'  so  ill.  So  I  came  away 
early,  an'  your  door  was  open,  an'  I — I — lost  my 
boy  this  way  six  months  ago,  an'  I've  been  tryin' 
to  forget  it  ever  since,  an'  I — I — I  am  very  sorry 
for  intrudin'  an'  anythin'  that  has  happened." 

Mrs.  Bent  was  putting  out  the  Doctor's  eye 
with  a  lamp  as  he  stooped  over  Dora. 

"Take  it  away,"  said  the  Doctor.  "I  think 
the  child  will  do,  thanks  to  you,  Mrs.  Delville.  / 
should  have  come  too  late,  but,  I  assure  you  " — 


A  Second-rate  Woman  127 

he  was  addressing  himself  to  Mrs.  Delville — "I 
had  not  the  faintest  reason  to  expect  this.  The 
membrane  must  have  grown  like  a  mushroom. 
Will  one  of  you  help  me,  please  ?  " 

He  had  reason  for  the  last  sentence.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  had  thrown  herself  into  Mrs.  Delville's 
arms,  where  she  was  weeping  bitterly,  and  Mrs. 
Bent  was  unpicturesquely  mixed  up  with  both, 
while  from  the- tangle  came  the  sound  of  many 
sobs  and  much  promiscuous  kissing. 

"  Good  gracious!  I've  spoilt  all  your  beautiful 
roses!"  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  lifting  her  head 
from  the  lump  of  crushed  gum  and  calico  atroci- 
ties on  Mrs.  Delville's  shoulder  and  hurrying  to 
the  Doctor. 

Mrs.  Delville  picked  up  her  shawl,  and  slouched 
out  of  the  room,  mopping  her  eyes  with  the 
glove  that  she  had  not  put  on. 

"I  always  said  she  was  more  than  a  woman," 
sobbed  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  hysterically,  "and  that 
proves  it!" 


Six  weeks  later,  Mrs.  Bent  and  Dora  had  re- 
turned to  the  hotel.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  had  come 
out  of  the  Valley  of  Humiliation,  had  ceased  to 
reproach  herself  for  her  collapse  in  an  hour  of 
need,  and  was  even  beginning  to  direct  the  affairs 
of  the  world  as  before. 


128  A  Second-rate  Woman 

"  So  nobody  died,  and  everything  went  off  as 
it  should,  and  I  kissed  The  Dowd,  Polly.  I  feel 
so  old.  Does  it  show  in  my  face  ?  " 

"  Kisses  don't  as  a  rule,  do  they  ?  Of  course 
you  know  what  the  result  of  The  Dowd's  provi- 
dential arrival  has  been." 

"They  ought  to  build  her  a  statue — only  no 
sculptor  dare  copy  those  skirts." 

"Ah!"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe,  quietly.  "She  has 
found  another  reward.  The  Dancing  Master  has 
been  smirking  through  Simla,  giving  every  one  to 
understand  that  she  came  because  of  her  undy- 
ing love  for  him — for  him — to  save  his  child,  and 
all  Simla  naturally  believes  this." 

"But  Mrs.  Bent"  — 

"  Mrs.  Bent  believes  it  more  than  any  one  else. 
She  won't  speak  to  The  Dowd  now.  Isn't  The 
Dancing  Master  an  angel  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  lifted  up  her  voice  and  raged 
till  bedtime.  The  doors  of  the  two  rooms  stood 
open. 

"  Polly,"  said  a  voice  from  the  darkness,  "  what 
did  that  American-heiress-globe-trotter  girl  say 
last  season  when  she  was  tipped  out  of  her  'rick- 
shaw turning  a  corner?  Some  absurd  adjec- 
tive that  made  the  man  who  picked  her  up  ex- 
plode." 

'"Paltry/"  said  Mrs.  Mallowe.  "Through 
her  nose — like  this — '  Ha-ow  pahltry  1 ' " 


A  Second-rate  Woman  129 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  voice.  "  Ha-ow  pahltry  it 
all  is!" 

"Which?" 

"Everything.  Babies,  Diphtheria,  Mrs.  Bent 
and  The  Dancing  Master,  I  whooping  in  a  chair, 
and  The  Dowd  dropping  in  from  the  clouds.  I 
wonder  what  the  motive  was — all  the  motives." 

"Urn!" 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"  Don't  ask  me.     Go  to  sleep." 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 


ONLY  A  SUBALTERN 

.  .  .  Not  only  to  enforce  by  command  but  to  encourage 
by  example  the  energetic  discharge  of  duty  and  the  steady 
endurance  of  the  difficulties  and  privations  inseparable  from 
Military  Service. — Bengal  Army  Regulations. 

THEY  made  Bobby  Wick  pass  an  examination 
at  Sandhurst.  He  was  a  gentleman  before 
he  was  gazetted,  so,  when  the  Empress  an- 
nounced that  "  Gentleman-Cadet  Robert  Hanna 
Wick  "  was  posted  as  Second  Lieutenant  to  the 
Tyneside  Tail  Twisters  at  Krab  Bokhar,  he  be- 
came an  officer  and  a  gentleman,  which  is  an 
enviable  thing  ;  and  there  was  joy  in  the  house 
of  Wick  where  Mamma  Wick  and  all  the  little 
Wicks  fell  upon  their  knees  and  offered  incense 
to  Bobby  by  virtue  of  his  achievements. 

Papa  Wick  had  been  a  Commissioner  in  his 
day,  holding  authority  over  three  millions  of  men 
in  the  Chota-Buldana  Division,  building  great 
works  for  the  good  of  the  land,  and  doing  his 
best  to  make  two  blades  of  grass  grow  where 
there  was  but  one  before.  Of  course,  nobody 
knew  anything  about  this  in  the  little  English 
village  where  he  was  just  "old  Mr.  Wick"  and 
133 


134  Only  a  Subaltern 

had  forgotten  that  he  was  a  Companion  of  the 
Order  of  the  Star  of  India. 

He  patted  Bobby  on  the  shoulder  and  said: 
"Well  done,  my  boy!" 

There  followed,  while  the  uniform  was  being 
prepared,  an  interval  of  pure  delight,  during 
which  Bobby  took  brevet-rank  as  a  "man"  at 
the  women-swamped  tennis-parties  and  tea- 
fights  of  the  village,  and,  I  dare  say,  had  his  join- 
ing-time been  extended,  would  have  fallen  in 
love  with  several  girls  at  once.  Little  country 
villages  at  Home  are  very  full  of  nice  girls,  be- 
cause all  the  young  men  come  out  to  India  to 
make  their  fortunes. 

"India,"  said  Papa  Wick,  "is  the  place.  I've 
had  thirty  years  of  it  and,  begad,  I'd  like  to  go 
back  again.  When  you  join  the  Tail  Twisters 
you'll  be  among  friends,  if  every  one  hasn't  for- 
gotten Wick  of  Chota-Buldana,  and  a  lot  of  peo- 
ple will  be  kind  to  you  for  our  sakes.  The 
mother  will  tell  you  more  about  outfit  than  I 
can,  but  remember  this.  Stick  to  your  Regi- 
ment, Bobby — stick  to  your  Regiment.  You'll 
see  men  all  round  you  going  into  the  Staff  Corps, 
and  doing  every  possible  sort  of  duty  but  regi- 
mental, and  you  may  be  tempted  to  follow  suit. 
Now  so  long  as  you  keep  within  your  allowance, 
and  I  haven't  stinted  you  there,  stick  to  the  Line, 
the  whole  Line  and  nothing  but  the  Line.  Be 


Only  a  Subaltern  135 

careful  how  you  back  another  young  fool's  bill, 
and  if  you  fall  in  love  with  a  woman  twenty 
years  older  than  yourself,  don't  tell  me  about  it, 
that's  all." 

With  these  counsels,  and  many  others  equally 
valuable,  did  Papa  Wick  fortify  Bobby  ere  that 
last  awful  night  at  Portsmouth  when  the  Officers' 
Quarters  held  more  inmates  than  were  provided 
for  by  the  Regulations,  and  the  liberty-men  of 
the  ships  fell  foul  of  the  drafts  for  India,  and  the 
battle  raged  from  the  Dockyard  Gates  even  to  the 
slums  of  Longport,  while  the  drabs  of  Fratton 
came  down  and  scratched  the  faces  of  the  Queen's 
Officers. 

Bobby  Wick,  with  an  ugly  bruise  on  his 
freckled  nose,  a  sick  and  shaky  detachment  to 
manoeuvre  inship  and  the  comfort  of  fifty  scorn- 
ful females  to  attend  to,  had  no  time  to  feel 
homesick  till  the  Malabar  reached  mid-Channel, 
when  he  doubled  his  emotions  with  a  little 
guard-visiting  and  a  great  many  other  matters. 

The  Tail  Twisters  were  a  most  particular 
Regiment.  Those  who  knew  them  least  said 
that  they  were  eaten  up  with  "  side."  But  their 
reserve  and  their  internal  arrangements  generally 
were  merely  protective  diplomacy.  Some  five 
years  before,  the  Colonel  commanding  had  looked 
into  the  fourteen  fearless  eyes  of  seven  plump 
and  juicy  subalterns  who  had  all  applied  to  enter 


136  Only  a  Subaltern 

the  Staff  Corps,  and  had  asked  them  why  the 
three  stars  should  he,  a  colonel  of  the  Line,  com- 
mand a  dashed  nursery  for  double-dashed  bottle- 
suckers  who  put  on  condemned  tin  spurs  and 
rode  qualified  mokes  at  the  hiatused  heads  of  for- 
saken Black  Regiments.  He  was  a  rude  man  and 
a  terrible.  Wherefore  the  remnant  took  meas- 
ures [with  the  half-butt  as  an  engine  of  public 
opinion]  till  the  rumor  went  abroad  that  young 
men  who  used  the  Tail  Twisters  as  a  crutch  to 
the  Staff  Corps,  had  many  and  varied  trials  to  en- 
dure. However,  a  regiment  had  just  as  much 
right  to  its  own  secrets  as  a  woman. 

When  Bobby  came  up  from  Deolali  and  took 
his  place  among  the  Tail  Twisters,  it  was  gently 
but  firmly  borne  in  upon  him  that  the  Regiment 
was  his  father  and  his  mother  and  his  indissolubly 
wedded  wife,  and  that  there  was  no  crime  under 
the  canopy  of  heaven  blacker  than  that  of  bring- 
ing shame  on  the  Regiment,  which  was  the  best- 
shooting,  best-drilled,  best  set-up,  bravest,  most 
illustrious,  and  in  all  respects  most  desirable 
Regiment  within  the  compass  of  the  Seven  Seas. 
He  was  taught  the  legends  of  the  Mess  Plate, 
from  the  great  grinning  Golden  Gods  that  had 
come  out  of  the  Summer  Palace  in  Pekin  to  the 
silver-mounted  markhorhorn  snuff-mull  pre- 
sented by  the  last  C.  O.  [he  who  spake  to  the 
seven  subalterns].  And  every  one  of  those 


Only  a  Subaltern  137 

legends  told  him  of  battles  fought  at  long  odds, 
without  fear  as  without  support;  of  hospitality 
catholic  as  an  Arab's;  of  friendships  deep  as  the 
sea  and  steady  as  the  fighting-line;  of  honor  won 
by  hard  roads  for  honor's  sake;  and  of  instant 
and  unquestioning  devotion  to  the  Regiment — 
the  Regiment  that  claims  the  lives  of  all  and  lives 
forever. 

More  than  once,  too,  he  came  officially  into 
contact  with  the  Regimental  colors,  which  looked 
like  the  lining  of  a  bricklayer's  hat  on  the  end  of 
a  chewed  stick.  Bobby  did  not  kneel  and  wor- 
ship them,  because  British  subalterns  are  not  con- 
structed in  that  manner.  Indeed,  he  condemned 
them  for  their  weight  at  the  very  moment  that 
they  were  filling  with  awe  and  other  more  noble 
sentiments. 

But  best  of  all  was  the  occasion  when  he 
moved  with  the  Tail  Twisters  in  review  order  at 
the  breaking  of  a  November  day.  Allowing  for 
duty-men  and  sick,  the  Regiment  was  one  thou- 
sand and  eighty  strong,  and  Bobby  belonged  to 
them ;  for  was  he  not  a  Subaltern  of  the  Line — 
the  whole  Line  and  nothing  but  the  Line — as  the 
tramp  of  two  thousand  one  hundred  and  sixty 
sturdy  ammunition  boots  attested  ?  He  would 
not  have  changed  places  with  Deighton  of  the 
Horse  Battery,  whirling  by  in  a  pillar  of  cloud  to 
a  chorus  of  "Strong  right!  Strong  left!"  or 


138  Only  a  Subaltern 

Hogan-Yale  of  the  White  Hussars,  leading  his 
squadron  for  all  it  was  worth,  with  the  price  of 
horseshoes  thrown  in;  or  "Tick"  Boileau,  try- 
ing to  live  up  to  his  fierce  blue  and  gold  turban 
while  the  wasps  of  the  Bengal  Cavalry  stretched 
to  a  gallop  in  the  wake  of  the  long,  lollopping 
Walers  of  the  White  Hussars. 

They  fought  through  the  clear  cool  day,  and 
Bobby  felt  a  little  thrill  run  down  his  spine  when 
he  heard  the  tinkle-tinhle-tinkle  of  the  empty  car- 
tridge-cases hopping  from  the  breech-blocks  after 
the  roar  of  the  volleys;  for  he  knew  that  he 
should  live  to  hear  that  sound  in  action.  The  re- 
view ended  in  a  glorious  chase  across  the  plain — 
batteries  thundering  after  cavalry  to  the  huge 
disgust  of  the  White  Hussars,  and  the  Tyneside 
Tail  Twisters  hunting  a  Sikh  Regiment,  till  the 
lean  lathy  Singhs  panted  with  exhaustion. 
Bobby  was  dusty  and  dripping  long  before  noon, 
but  his  enthusiasm  was  merely  focused — not  di- 
minished. 

He  returned  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  Revere,  his 
"skipper,"  that  is  to  say,  the  Captain  of  his 
Company,  and  to  be  instructed  in  the  dark  art 
and  mystery  of  managing  men,  which  is  a  very 
large  part  of  the  Profession  of  Arms. 

"  If  you  haven't  a  taste  that  way,"  said  Revere, 
between  his  puffs  of  his  cheroot,  "you'll  never 
be  able  to  get  the  hang  of  it,  but  remember, 


Only  a  Subaltern  139 

Bobby,  'tisn't  the  best  drill,  though  drill  is  nearly 
everything,  that  hauls  a  Regiment  through  Hell 
and  out  on  the  other  side.  It's  the  man  who 
knows  how  to  handle  men — goat-men,  swine- 
men,  dog-men,  and  so  on." 

"Dormer,  for  instance,"  said  Bobby,  "I  think 
he  comes  under  the  head  of  fool-men.  He  mopes 
like  a  sick  owl." 

' '  That's  where  you  make  your  mistake,  my  son. 
Dormer  isn't  a  fool  yet,  but  he's  a  dashed  dirty 
soldier,  and  his  room  corporal  makes  fun  of  his 
socks  before  kit-inspection.  Dormer,  being  two- 
thirds  pure  brute,  goes  into  a  corner  and  growls." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  said  Bobby,  admiringly. 

"  Because  a  Company  commander  has  to  know 
these  things — because,  if  he  does  not  know,  he 
may  have  crime — ay,  murder — brewing  under 
his  very  nose  and  yet  not  see  that  it's  there. 
Dormer  is  being  badgered  out  of  his  mind — big 
as  he  is — and  he  hasn't  intellect  enough  to  resent 
it.  He's  taken  to  quiet  boozing  and,  Bobby, 
when  the  butt  of  a  room  goes  on  the  drink,  or 
takes  to  moping  by  himself,  measures  are  neces- 
sary to  pull  him  out  of  himself." 

"  What  measures  ?  'Man  can't  run  round  cod- 
dling his  men  forever." 

"No.  The  men  would  precious  soon  show 
him  that  he  was  not  wanted.  You've  got  to  " — 

Here  the  Color-sergeant    entered  with  some 


140  Only  a  Subaltern 

papers;  Bobby  reflected  for  a  while  as  Revere 
looked  through  the  Company  forms. 

"Does  Dormer  do  anything,  Sergeant?" 
Bobby  asked,  with  the  air  of  one  continuing  an 
interrupted  conversation. 

"No,  sir.  Does  'is  dooty  like  a  hortomato," 
said  the  Sergeant,  who  delighted  in  long  words. 
"A  dirty  soldier,  and  'e's  under  full  stoppages 
for  new  kit.  It's  covered  with  scales,  sir." 

"  Scales  ?    What  scales  ?  " 

"Fish-scales,  sir.  'E's  always  pokin'  in  the 
mud  by  the  river  an'  a-cleanin'  them  muchly-fish 
with  'is  thumbs."  Revere  was  still  absorbed  in 
the  Company  papers,  and  the  Sergeant,  who  was 
sternly  fond  of  Bobby,  continued, — "  'E  generally 
goes  down  there  when  'e's  got  'is  skinful,  beggin' 
your  pardon,  sir,  an'  they  do  say  that  the  more 
lush — in-^-briated  'e  is,  the  more  fish  'e  catches. 
They  call  'im  the  Looney  Fishmonger  in  the  Com- 
p'ny,  sir." 

Revere  signed  the  last  paper  and  the  Sergeant 
retreated. 

"It's  a  filthy  amusement,"  sighed  Bobby  to 
himself.  Then  aloud  to  Revere:  "Are  you  really 
worried  about  Dormer  ?  " 

"A  little.  You  see  he's  never  mad  enough  to 
send  to  hospital,  or  drunk  enough  to  run  in,  but 
at  any  minute  he  may  flare  up,  brooding  and 
sulking  as  he  does.  He  resents  any  interest  be- 


Only  a  Subaltern  141 

ing  shown  in  him,  and  the  only  time  I  took  him 
out  shooting  he  all  but  shot  me  by  accident." 

"  I  fish,"  said  Bobby,  with  a  wry  face.  "  I 
hire  a  country-boat  and  go  down  the  river  from 
Thursday  to  Sunday,  and  the  amiable  Dormer 
goes  with  me — if  you  can  spare  us  both." 

"You  blazing  young  fool!"  said  Revere,  but 
his  heart  was  full  of  much  more  pleasant  words. 

Bobby,  the  Captain  of  a  dhoni,  with  Private 
Dormer  for  mate,  dropped  down  the  river  on 
Thursday  morning — the  Private  at  the  bow,  the 
Subaltern  at  the  helm.  The  Private  glared  un- 
easily at  the  Subaltern,  who  respected  the  reserve 
of  the  Private. 

After  six  hours,  Dormer  paced  to  the  stern, 
saluted,  and  said — "  Beg  y'  pardon,  sir,  but  was 
you  ever  on  the  Durh'm  Canal?" 

"No, "said  Bobby  Wick.  "Come  and  have 
some  tiffin." 

They  ate  in  silence.  As  the  evening  fell,  Pri- 
vate Dormer  broke  forth,  speaking  to  himself  — 

"  Hi  was  on  the  Durh'm  Canal,  jes'  such  a 
night,  come  next  week  twelve  month,  a-trailin' 
of  my  toes  in  the  water."  He  smoked  and  said 
no  more  till  bedtime. 

The  witchery  of  the  dawn  turned  the  grey 
river-reaches  to  purple,  gold,  and  opal;  and  it 
was  as  though  the  lumbering  dhoni  crept  across 
the  splendors  of  a  new  heaven. 


142  Only  a  Subaltern 

Private  Dormer  popped  his  head  out  of  his 
blanket  and  gazed  at  the  glory  below  and  around. 

"Well — damn — my  eyes!  "said  Private  Dor- 
mer, in  an  awed  whisper.  "This  'ere  is  like  a 
bloomin'  gallantry-show!"  For  the  rest  of  the 
day  he  was  dumb,  but  achieved  an  ensanguined 
filthiness  through  the  cleaning  of  big  fish. 

The  boat  returned  on  Saturday  evening.  Dor- 
mer had  been  struggling  with  speech  since  noon. 
As  the  lines  and  luggage  were  being  disem- 
barked, he  found  tongue. 

"  Beg  y'  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "but  would  you 
— would  you  min'  shakin'  'ands  with  me,  sir?" 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Bobby,  and  he  shook 
accordingly.  Dormer  returned  to  barracks  and 
Bobby  to  mess. 

"He  wanted  a  little  quiet  and  some  fishing,  I 
think,"  said  Bobby.  "My  aunt,  but  he's  a  filthy 
sort  of  animal!  Have  you  ever  seen  him  clean 
'  them,  muchly-fish  with  'is  thumbs  '  ?  " 

"Anyhow,"  said  Revere,  three  weeks  later, 
"  he's  doing  his  best  to  keep  his  things  clean." 

When  the  spring  died,  Bobby  joined  in  the 
general  scramble  for  Hill  leave,  and  to  his  sur^ 
prise  and  delight  secured  three  months. 

"As  good  a  boy  as  I  want,"  said  Revere,  the 
admiring  skipper. 

"  The  best  of  the  batch,"  said  the  Adjutant  to 
the  Colonel.  "Keep  back  that  young  skrim- 


Only  a  Subaltern  143 

shanker  Porkiss,  sir,  and  let  Revere  make  him  sit 
up." 

So  Bobby  departed  joyously  to  Simla  Pahar 
with  a  tin  box  of  gorgeous  raiment. 

"'Son  of  Wick— old  Wick  of  Chota-Buldana ? 
Ask  him  to  dinner,  dear,"  said  the  aged  men. 

"  What  a  nice  boy ! "  said  the  matrons  and  the 
maids. 

"First-class  place,  Simla.  Oh,  ri — ipping!" 
said  Bobby  Wick,  and  ordered  new  white  cord 
breeches  on  the  strength  of  it. 

"We're  in  a  bad  way,"  wrote  Revere  to  Bobby 
at  the  end  of  two  months.  "  Since  you  left,  the 
Regiment  has  taken  to  fever  and  is  fairly  rotten 
with  it — two  hundred  in  hospital,  about  a  hun- 
dred in  cells — drinking  to  keep  off  fever — and  the 
Companies  on  parade  fifteen  file  strong  at  the 
outside.  There's  rather  more  sickness  in  the 
out-villages  than  I  care  for,  but  then  I'm  so  blis- 
tered with  prickly-heat  that  I'm  ready  to  hang 
myself.  What's  the  yarn  about  your  mashing  a 
Miss  Haverley  up  there  ?  Not  serious,  I  hope  ? 
You're  over-young  to  hang  millstones  round  your 
neck,  and  the  Colonel  will  turf  you  out  of  that  in 
double-quick  time  if  you  attempt  it." 

It  was  not  the  Colonel  that  brought  Bobby  out 
of  Simla,  but  a  much  more  to  be  respected 
Commandant.  The  sickness  in  the  out-villages 
spread,  the  Bazar  was  put  out  of  bounds,  and 


144  Only  a  Subaltern 

then  came  the  news  that  the  Tail  Twisters  must 
go  into  camp.  The  message  flashed  to  the  Hill 
stations. — "Cholera  —  Leave  stopped  —  Officers 
recalled."  Alas,  for  the  white  gloves  in  the 
neatly  soldered  boxes,  the  rides  and  the  dances 
and  picnics  that  were  to  be,  the  loves  half 
spoken,  and  the  debts  unpaid!  Without  demur 
and  without  question,  fast  as  tonga  could  fly  or 
pony  gallop,  back  to  their  Regiments  and  their 
Batteries,  as  though  they  were  hastening  to  their 
weddings,  fled  the  subalterns. 

Bobby  received  his  orders  on  returning  from  a 
dance  at  Viceregal  Lodge  where  he  had — but 
only  the  Haverley  girl  knows  what  Bobby  had 
said  or  how  many  waltzes  he  had  claimed  for  the 
next  ball.  Six  in  the  morning  saw  Bobby  at  the 
Tonga  Office  in  the  drenching  rain,  the  whirl  of 
the  last  waltz  still  in  his  ears,  and  an  intoxication 
due  neither  to  wine  nor  waltzing  in  his  brain. 

"Good  man!  "  shouted  Deighton  of  the  Horse 
Battery,  through  the  mists.  "Whar  you  raise 
dat  tonga?  I'm  coming  with  you.  Ow!  But 
I've  a  head  and  half.  /  didn't  sit  out  all  night. 
They  say  the  Battery's  awful  bad,"  and  he 
hummed  dolorously  — 

"  Leave  the  what  at  the  what's-its-name, 
Leave  the  flock  without  shelter, 
Leave  the  corpse  uninterred, 
Leave  the  bride  at  the  altar! 


Only  a  Subaltern  145 

"My  faith!  It'll  be  more  bally  corpse  than 
bride,  though,  this  journey.  Jump  in,  Bobby. 
Get  on,  Coachwan  !  " 

On  the  Umballa  platform  waited  a  detachment 
of  officers  discussing  the  latest  news  from  the 
stricken  cantonment,  and  it  was  here  that  Bobby 
learned  the  real  condition  of  the  Tail  Twisters. 

"They  went  into  camp,"  said  an  elderly  Major 
recalled  from  the  whist-tables  at  Mussoorie  to  a 
sickly  Native  Regiment,  "they  went  into  camp 
with  two  hundred  and  ten  sick  in  carts.  Two 
hundred  and  ten  fever  cases  only,  and  the  balance 
looking  like  so  many  ghosts  with  sore  eyes.  A 
Madras  Regiment  could  have  walked  through 
'em." 

"But  they  were  as  fit  as  be-damned  when  I 
left  them !  "  said  Bobby. 

"Then  you'd  better  make  them  as  fit  as  be- 
damned  when  you  rejoin,"  said  the  Major, brutally. 

Bobby  pressed  his  forehead  against  the  rain- 
splashed  windowpane  as  the  train  lumbered 
across  the  sodden  Doab,  and  prayed  for  the 
health  of  the  Tyneside  Tail  Twisters.  Naini  Tal 
had  sent  down  her  contingent  with  all  speed; 
the  lathering  ponies  of  the  Dalhousie  Road  stag- 
gered into  Pathankot,  taxed  to  the  full  stretch  of 
their  strength;  while  from  cloudy  Darjiling  the 
Calcutta  Mail  whirled  up  the  last  straggler  of  the 
little  army  that  was  to  fight  a  fight,  in  which  was 


146  Only  a  Subaltern 

neither  medal  nor  honor  for  the  winning,  against 
an  enemy  none  other  than  "the  sickness  that  de- 
stroyeth  in  the  noonday." 

And  as  each  man  reported  himself,  he  said: 
"This  is  a  bad  business,"  and  went  about  his 
own  forthwith,  for  every  Regiment  and  Battery 
in  the  cantonment  was  under  canvas,  the  sick- 
ness bearing  them  company. 

Bobby  fought  his  way  through  the  rain  to  the 
Tail  Twisters'  temporary  mess,  and  Revere  could 
have  fallen  on  the  boy's  neck  for  the  joy  of  see- 
ing that  ugly,  wholesome  phiz  once  more. 

"Keep 'em  amused  and  interested,"  said  Re- 
vere. "They  went  on  the  drink,  poor  fools, 
after  the  first  two  cases,  and  there  was  no  im- 
provement. Oh,  it's  good  to  have  you  back, 
Bobby!  Porkiss  is  a — never  mind." 

Deighton  came  over  from  the  Artillery  camp  to 
attend  a  dreary  mess  dinner,  and  contributed  to 
the  general  gloom  by  nearly  weeping  over  the 
condition  of  his  beloved  Battery.  Porkiss  so  far 
forgot  himself  as  to  insinuate  that  the  presence  of 
the  officers  could  do  no  earthly  good,  and  that 
the  best  thing  would  be  to  send  the  entire  Regi- 
ment into  hospital  and  "let  the  doctors  look  after 
them."  Porkiss  was  demoralized  with  fear,  nor 
was  his  peace  of  mind  restored  when  Revere 
said  coldly:  "Oh!  The  sooner  you  go  out  the 
better,  if  that's  your  way  of  thinking.  Any 


Only  a  Subaltern  147 

public  school  could  send  us  fifty  good  men  in 
your  place,  but  it  takes  time,  time,  Porkiss,  and 
money,  and  a  certain  amount  of  trouble,  to  make 
a  Regiment.  'S'pose  you're  the  person  we  go 
into  camp  for,  eh?" 

Whereupon  Porkiss  was  overtaken  with  a 
great  and  chilly  fear  which  a  drenching  in  the 
rain  did  not  allay,  and,  two  days  later,  quitted 
this  world  for  another  where,  men  do  fondly 
hope,  allowances  are  made  for  the  weaknesses 
of  the  flesh.  The  Regimental  Sergeant-Major 
looked  wearily  across  the  Sergeants'  Mess  tent 
when  the  news  was  announced. 

"There  goes  the  worst  of  them,"  he  said. 
"It'll  take  the  best,  and  then,  please  God,  it'll 
stop."  The  Sergeants  were  silent  till  one  said: 
"It  couldn't  be  him!"  and  all  knew  of  whom 
Travis  was  thinking. 

Bobby  Wick  stormed  through  the  tents  of  his 
Company,  rallying,  rebuking,  mildly,  as  is  con- 
sistent with  the  Regulations,  chaffing  the  faint- 
hearted ;  haling  the  sound  into  the  watery  sun- 
light when  there  was  a  break  in  the  weather,  and 
bidding  them  be  of  good  cheer  for  their  trouble 
was  nearly  at  an  end;  scuttling  on  his  dun  pony 
round  the  outskirts  of  the  camp  and  heading 
back  men  who,  with  the  innate  perversity  of 
British  soldiers,  were  always  wandering  into  in- 
fected villages,  or  drinking  deeply  from  rain- 


148  Only  a  Subaltern 

flooded  marshes;  comforting  the  panic-stricken 
with  rude  speech,  and  more  than  once  tending 
the  dying  who  had  no  friends — the  men  without 
"  townies  ";  organizing,  with  banjos  and  burned 
cork,  Sing-songs  which  should  allow  the  talent 
of  the  Regiment  full  play;  and  generally,  as  he 
explained,  "playing  the  giddy  garden-goat  all 
round." 

"You're  worth  a  half  a  dozen  of  us,  Bobby," 
said  Revere  in  a  moment  of  enthusiasmo  "  How 
the  devil  do  you  keep  it  up  ?" 

Bobby  made  no  answer,  but  had  Revere  looked 
into  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat  he  might  have 
seen  there  a  sheaf  of  badly-written  letters  which 
perhaps  accounted  for  the  power  that  possessed 
the  boy.  A  letter  came  to  Bobby  every  other 
day.  The  spelling  was  not  above  reproach,  but 
the  sentiments  must  have  been  most  satisfactory, 
for  on  receipt  Bobby's  eyes  softened  marvel- 
ously,  and  he  was  wont  to  fall  into  a  tender  ab- 
straction for  a  while  ere,  shaking  his  cropped 
head,  he  charged  into  his  work. 

By  what  power  he  drew  after  him  the  hearts 
of  the  roughest,  and  the  Tail. Twisters  counted  in 
their  ranks  some  rough  diamonds  indeed,  was  a 
mystery  to  both  skipper  and  C.  O.,  who  learned 
from  the  regimental  chaplain  that  Bobby  was 
considerably  more  in  request  in  the  hospital  tents 
than  the  Reverend  John  Emery. 


Only  a  Subaltern  149 

"The  men  seem  fond  of  you.  Are  you  in 
the  hospitals  much?"  said  the  Colonel,  who  did 
his  daily  round  and  ordered  the  men  to  get 
well  with  a  hardness  that  did  not  cover  his  bitter 
grief. 

"A  little,  sir,"  said  Bobby. 

"Shouldn't  go  there  too  often  if  I  were  you. 
They  say  it's  not  contagious,  but  there's  no  use 
in  running  unnecessary  risks.  We  can't  afford 
to  have  you  down,  y'  know." 

Six  days  later,  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty 
that  the  post-runner  plashed  his  way  out  to  the 
camp  with  the  mail-bags,  for  the  rain  was  falling 
in  torrents.  Bobby  received  a  letter,  bore  it  off 
to  his  tent,  and,  the  programme  for  the  next 
week's  Sing-song  being  satisfactorily  disposed 
of,  sat  down  to  answer  it.  For  an  hour  the  un- 
handy pen  toiled  over  the  paper,  and  where  senti- 
ment rose  to  more  than  normal  tide-level,  Bobby 
Wick  stuck  out  his  tongue  and  breathed  heavily. 
He  was  not  used  to  letter-writing. 

"Beg  y'  pardon,  sir,"  said  a  voice  at  the  tent 
door;  "but  Dormer's  'orrid  bad,  sir,  an'  they've 
taken  him  orf,  sir." 

"Damn  Private  Dormer  and  you  too!"  said 
Bobby  Wick,  running  the  blotter  over  the  half- 
finished  letter.  "Tell  him  I'll  come  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"'E's  awful  bad,  sir,"  said  the  voice,  hesitat- 


150  Only  a  Subaltern 

ingly.  There  was  an  undecided  squelching  of 
heavy  boots. 

"Well?"  said  Bobby,  impatiently. 

"  Excusin'  'imself  before'and  for  takin'  the 
liberty,  'e  says  it  would  be  a  comfort  for  to  as- 
sist 'im,  sir,  if" — 

"  Tattoo  lao!  Get  my  pony!  Here,  come  in 
out  of  the  rain  till  I'm  ready.  What  blasted 
nuisances  you  are!  That's  brandy.  Drink  some; 
you  want  it.  Hang  on  to  my  stirrup  and  tell  me 
if  I  go  too  fast." 

Strengthened  by  a  four-finger  "  nip  "  which  he 
swallowed  without  a  wink,  the  Hospital  Orderly 
kept  up  with  the  slipping,  mud-stained,  and  very 
disgusted  pony  as  it  shambled  to  the  hospital  tent. 

Private  Dormer  was  certainly  "'orrid  bad." 
He  had  all  but  reached  the  stage  of  collapse  and 
was  not  pleasant  to  look  upon. 

"What's  this,  Dormer?"  said  Bobby,  bending 
over  the  man.  "  You're  not  going  out  this  time. 
You've  got  to  come  fishing  with  me  once  or  twice 
more  yet." 

The  blue  lips  parted  and  in  the  ghost  of  a  whis- 
per said, — "Beg  y'  pardon,  sir  'disturbin'  of  you 
now,  but  would  you  min'  'oldin'  my  'and,  sir?" 

Bobby  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  the  icy 
cold  hand  closed  on  his  own  like  a  vice,  forcing 
a  lady's  ring  which  was  on  the  little  finger  deep 
into  the  flesh.  Bobby  set  his  lips  and  waited, 


Copyright,  18SJ9,  by  H.  M.  CaUlwell  Co. 

"  Dawn   showed  a  very    white-faced    subaltern  sitting   on    the 
side  of  a  sick  man's  cot." 


Only  a  Subaltern  151 

the  water  dripping  from  the  hem  of  his  trousers. 
An  hour  passed  and  the  grasp  of  the  hand  did 
not  relax,  nor  did  the  expression  of  the  drawn 
face  change.  Bobby  with  infinite  craft  lit  him- 
self a  cheroot  with  the  left  hand,  his  right  arm 
was  numbed  to  the  elbow,  and  resigned  himself 
to  a  night  of  pain. 

Dawn  showed  a  very  white-faced  Subaltern 
sitting  on  the  side  of  a  sick  man's  cot,  and  a 
Doctor  in  the  doorway  using  language  unfit  for 
publication. 

"  Have  you  been  here  all  night,  you  young 
ass  ?"  said  the  Doctor. 

"There  or  thereabouts,"  said  Bobby,  ruefully. 
"  He's  frozen  on  to  me." 

Dormer's  mouth  shut  with  a  click.  He  turned 
his  head  and  sighed.  The  clinging  hand  opened, 
and  Bobby's  arrr  j  fell  useless  at  his  side. 

"  He'll  do,"  said  the  Doctor,  quietly.  "  It  must 
have  been  a  toss-up  all  through  the  night.  Think 
you're  to  be  congratulated  on  this  case." 

"Oh,  bosh!"  said  Bobby.  "I  thought  the 
man  had  gone  out  long  ago — only — only  I  didn't 
care  to  take  my  hand  away.  Rub  my  arm  down, 
there's  a  good  chap.  What  a  grip  the  brute  has! 
I'm  chilled  to  the  marrow ! "  He  passed  out  of 
the  tent  shivering. 

Private  Dormer  was  allowed  to  celebrate  his 
repulse  of  Death  by  strong  waters.  Four  days 


152  Only  a  Subaltern 

later,  he  sat  on  the  side  of  his  cot  and  said  to  the 
patients  mildly:  "I'd  'a'  liken  to 'a' spoken  to 
'im — so  I  should." 

But  at  that  time  Bobby  was  reading  yet  an- 
other letter — he  had  the  most  persistent  corre- 
spondent of  any  man  in  camp — and  was  even 
then  about  to  write  that  the  sickness  had  abated, 
and  in  another  week  at  the  outside  would  be 
gone.  He  did  not  intend  to  say  that  the  chill  of 
a  sick  man's  hand  seemed  to  have  struck  into  the 
heart  whose  capacities  for  affection  he  dwelt  on 
at  such  length.  He  did  intend  to  enclose  the 
illustrated  programme  of  the  forthcoming  Sing- 
song whereof  he  was  not  a  little  proud.  He 
also  intended  to  write  on  many  other  matters 
which  do  not  concern  us,  and  doubtless  would 
have  done  so  but  for  the  slight  feverish  head- 
ache which  made  him  dull  and  unresponsive  at 
mess. 

"You  are  overdoing  it,  Bobby,"  said  his  skip- 
per. "  'Might  give  the  rest  of  us  credit  of  doing 
a  little  work.  You  go  on  as  if  you  were  the 
whole  Mess  rolled  into  one.  Take  it  easy." 

"I  will,"  said  Bobby.  "I'm  feeling  done  up, 
somehow."  Revere  looked  at  him  anxiously  and 
said  nothing. 

There  was  a  flickering  of  lanterns  about  the 
camp  that  night,  and  a  rumor  that  brought  men 
out  of  their  cots  to  the  tent  doors,  a  paddling  of 


Only  a  Subaltern  153 

the  naked  feet  of  doolie-bearers  and  the  rush  of 
a  galloping  horse. 

"  Wot's  up  ?"  asked  twenty  tents;  and  through 
twenty  tents  ran  the  answer — "  Wick,  'e's  down." 

They  brought  the  news  to  Revere  and  he 
groaned.  "Any  one  but  Bobby  and  I  shouldn't 
have  cared!  The  Sergeant-Major  was  right." 

"Not  going  out  this  journey,"  gasped  Bobby, 
as  he  was  lifted  from  the  doolie.  "Not  going 
out  this  journey."  Then  with  an  air  of  supreme 
conviction — "I  can't,  you  see." 

"  Not  if  I  can  do  anything!  "  said  the  Surgeon- 
Major,  who  had  hastened  over  from  the  mess 
where  he  had  been  dining. 

He  and  the  Regimental  Surgeon  fought  together 
with  Death  for  the  life  of  Bobby  Wick.  Their 
work  was  interrupted  by  a  hairy  apparition  in  a 
blue-grey  dressing-gown  who  stared  in  horror  at 
the  bed  and  cried — "Oh,  my  Gawd!  It  can't  be 
'im  !  "  until  an  indignant  Hospital  Orderly  whisked 
him  away. 

If  care  of  man  and  desire  to  live  could  have 
done  aught,  Bobby  would  have  been  saved.  As 
it  was,  he  made  a  fight  of  three  days,  and  the 
Surgeon-Major's  brow  uncreased.  "We'll  save 
him  yet,"  he  said;  and  the  Surgeon,  who,  though 
he  ranked  with  the  Captain,  had  a  very  youthful 
heart,  went  out  upon  the  word  and  pranced  joy- 
ously in  the  mud. 


154  Only  a  Subaltern 

"Not  going  out  this  journey,"  whispered 
Bobby  Wick,  gallantly,  at  the  end  of  the  third 
day. 

"Bravo!"  said  the  Surgeon-Major.  "That's 
the  way  to  look  at  it,  Bobby." 

As  evening  fell  a  grey  shade  gathered  round 
Bobby's  mouth,  and  he  turned  his  face  to  the 
tent  wall  wearily.  The  Surgeon-Major  frowned. 

"I'm  awfully  tired,"  said  Bobby,  very  faintly. 
"  What's  the  use  of  bothering  me  with  medicine  ? 
I — don't — want — it.  Let  me  alone." 

The  desire  for  life  had  departed,  and  Bobby 
was  content  to  drift  away  on  the  easy  tide  of 
Death. 

"  It's  no  good,"  said  the  Surgeon-Major.  "  He 
doesn't  want  to  live.  He's  meeting  it,  poor 
child."  And  he  blew  his  nose. 

Half  a  mile  away,  the  regimental  band  was 
playing  the  overture  to  the  Sing-song,  for  the 
men  had  been  told  that  Bobby  was  out  of  danger. 
The  clash  of  the  brass  and  the  wail  of  the  horns 
reached  Bobby's  ears. 

Is  there  a  single  joy  or  pain, 
That  I  should  never  kno — ow  ? 
You  do  not  love  me,  'tis  in  vain, 
Bid  me  good-bye  and  go ! 

An  expression  of  hopeless  irritation  crossed  the 
boy's  face,  and  he  tried  to  shake  his  head. 


Only  a  Subaltern  155 

The  Surgeon-Major  bent  down — "What  is  it? 
Bobby?"— "Not  that  waltz,"  muttered  Bobby. 
"  That's  our  own — our  very  ownest  own.  .  .  . 
Mummy  dear." 

With  this  he  sank  into  the  stupor  that  gave 
place  to  death  early  next  morning. 

Revere,  his  eyes  red  at  the  rims  and  his  nose 
very  white,  went  into  Bobby's  tent  to  write  a  let- 
ter to  Papa  Wick  which  should  bow  the  white 
head  of  the  ex-Commissioner  of  Chota-Buldana 
in  the  keenest  sorrow  of  his  life.  Bobby's  little 
store  of  papers  lay  in  confusion  on  the  table, 
and  among  them  a  half-finished  letter.  The  last 
sentence  ran:  "So  you  see,  darling,  there  is 
really  no  fear,  because  as  long  as  I  know  you 
care  for  me  and  I  care  for  you,  nothing  can  touch 
me." 

Revere  stayed  in  the  tent  for  an  hour.  When 
he  came  out,  his  eyes  were  redder  than  ever. 


Private  Conklin  sat  on  a  turned-down  bucket, 
and  listened  to  a  not  unfamiliar  tune.  Private 
Conklin  was  a  convalescent  and  should  have  been 
tenderly  treated. 

"Ho!"  said  Private  Conklin.  "There's  an- 
other bloomin'  orfcer  da — ed." 

The  bucket  shot  from  under  him,  and  his  eyes 
filled  with  a  smithyful  of  sparks.  A  tall  man  in 


156  Only  a  Subaltern 

a  blue-grey  bedgown  was  regarding  him  with 
deep  disfavor. 

"You  ought  to  take  shame  for  yourself, 
Conky!  Orfcer? — bloomin'  orfcer?  I'll  learn 
you  to  misname  the  likes  of  'im.  Hangel! 
Bloomin'  Hangel!  That's  wot  'e  is!  " 

And  the  Hospital  Orderly  was  so  satisfied  with 
the  justice  of  the  punishment  that  he  did  not 
even  order  Private  Dormer  back  to  his  cot. 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  A  PRIVATE 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  A  PRIVATE 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  a  soldier's  life  for  me  ! 

Shout,  boys,  shout !  for  it  makes  you  jolly  and  free. 

— The  Ramrod  Corps, 

F)EOPLE  who  have  seen,  say  that  one  of  the 
1  quaintest  spectacles  of  human  frailty  is  an 
outbreak  of  hysterics  in  a  girls'  school.  It  starts 
without  warning,  generally  on  a  hot  afternoon, 
among  the  elder  pupils.  A  girl  giggles  till  the 
giggle  gets  beyond  control.  Then  she  throws  up 
her  head,  and  cries,  "  Honk,  honk,  honk,"  like  a 
wild  goose,  and  tears  mix  with  the  laughter.  If 
the  mistress  be  wise,  she  will  rap  out  something 
severe  at  this  point  to  check  matters.  If  she  be 
tender-hearted,  and  send  for  a  drink  of  water, 
the  chances  are  largely  in  favor  of  another  girl 
laughing  at  the  afflicted  one  and  herself  collaps- 
ing. Thus  the  trouble  spreads,  and  may  end  in 
half  of  what  answers  to  the  Lower  Sixth  of  a 
boys'  school  rocking  and  whooping  together. 
Given  a  week  of  warm  weather,  two  stately 
promenades  per  diem,  a  heavy  mutton  and  rice 
meal  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  a  certain  amount 
of  nagging  from  the  teachers,  and  a  few  other 
159 


160  In  the  Matter  of  a  Private 

things,  some  amazing  effects  develop.  At  least, 
this  is  what  folk  say  who  have  had  experience. 

Now,  the  Mother  Superior  of  a  Convent  and 
the  Colonel  of  a  British  Infantry  Regiment  would 
be  justly  shocked  at  any  comparison  being  made 
between  their  respective  charges.  But  it  is  a 
fact  that,  under  certain  circumstances,  Thomas  in 
bulk  can  be  worked  up  into  ditthering,  rippling 
hysteria.  He  does  not  weep,  but  he  shows  his 
trouble  unmistakably,  and  the  consequences  get 
into  the  newspapers,  and  all  the  good  people  who 
hardly  know  a  Martini  from  a  Snider  say: 
"Take  away  the  brute's  ammunition!" 

Thomas  isn't  a  brute,  and  his  business,  which 
is  to  look  after  the  virtuous  people,  demands  that 
he  shall  have  his  ammunition  to  his  hand.  He 
doesn't  wear  silk  stockings,  and  he  really  ought 
to  be  supplied  with  a  new  Adjective  to  help  him 
to  express  his  opinions:  but,  for  all  that,  he  is  a 
great  man.  If  you  call  him  "  the  heroic  defender 
of  the  national  honor"  one  day,  and  "a  brutal 
and  licentious  soldiery  "  the  next,  you  naturally 
bewilder  him,  and  he  looks  upon  you  with  sus- 
picion. There  is  nobody  to  speak  for  Thomas 
except  people  who  have  theories  to  work  off  on 
him;  and  nobody  understands  Thomas  except 
Thomas,  and  he  does  not  always  know  what  is 
the  matter  with  himself. 

That  is  the  prologue.    This  is  the  story: 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private  161 

Corporal  Slane  was  engaged  to  be  married  to 
Miss  Jhansi  M'Kenna,  whose  history  is  well 
known  in  the  regiment  and  elsewhere.  He  had 
his  Colonel's  permission,  and,  being  popular  with 
the  men,  every  arrangement  had  been  made  to 
give  the  wedding  what  Private  Ortheris  called 
"  eeklar."  It  fell  in  the  heart  of  the  hot  weather, 
and,  after  the  wedding,  Slane  was  going  up  to 
the  Hills  with  the  bride.  None  the  less,  Slane's 
grievance  was  that  the  affair  would  be  only  a 
hired-carriage  wedding,  and  he  felt  that  the 
"eeklar"  of  that  was  meagre.  Miss  M'Kenna 
did  not  care  so  much.  The  Sergeant's  wife  was 
helping  her  to  make  her  wedding-dress,  and  she 
was  very  busy.  Slane  was,  just  then,  the  only 
moderately  contented  man  in  barracks.  All  the 
rest  were  more  or  less  miserable. 

And  they  had  so  much  to  make  them  happy, 
too.  All  their  work  was  over  at  eight  in  the 
morning,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  day  they  could 
lie  on  their  backs  and  smoke  Canteen-plug  and 
swear  at  the  punkah-coolies.  They  enjoyed  a 
fine,  full  flesh  meal  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  and 
then  threw  themselves  down  on  their  cots  and 
sweated  and  slept  till  it  was  cool  enough  to  go 
out  with  their  "  towny,"  whose  vocabulary  con- 
tained less  than  six  hundred  words,  and  the  Ad- 
jective, and  whose  views  on  every  conceivable 
question  they  had  heard  many  times  before. 


1 62  In  the  Matter  of  a  Private 

There  was  the  Canteen,  of  course,  and  there 
was  the  Temperance  Room  with  the  second-hand 
papers  in  it;  but  a  man  of  any  profession  cannot 
read  for  eight  hours  a  day  in  a  temperature  of 
96°  or  98°  in  the  shade,  running  up  sometimes  to 
103°  at  midnight.  Very  few  men,  even  though 
they  get  a  pannikin  of  flat,  stale,  muddy  beer  and 
hide  it  under  their  cots,  can  continue  drinking  for 
six  hours  a  day.  One  man  tried,  but  he  died, 
and  nearly  the  whole  regiment  went  to  his  fu- 
neral because  it  gave  them  something  to  do.  It 
was  too  early  for  the  excitement  of  fever  or 
cholera.  The  men  could  only  wait  and  wait  and 
wait,  and  watch  the  shadow  of  the  barrack  creep- 
ing across  the  blinding  white  dust.  That  was  a 
gay  life. 

They  lounged  about  cantonments — it  was  too 
hot  for  any  sort  of  game,  and  almost  too  hot  for 
vice — and  fuddled  themselves  in  the  evening,  and 
filled  themselves  to  distension'with  the  healthy 
nitrogenous  food  provided  for  them,  and  the 
more  they  stoked  the  less  exercise  they  took  and 
more  explosive  they  grew.  Then  tempers  began 
to  wear  away,  and  men  fell  a-brooding  over  in- 
sults real  or  imaginary,  for  they  had  nothing  else 
to  think  of.  The  tone  of  the  repartees  changed, 
and  instead  of  saying  light-heartedly:  "I'll 
knock  your  silly  face  in,"  men  grew  laboriously 
polite  and  hinted  that  the  cantonments  were  not 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private  163 

big  enough  for  themselves  and  their  enemy,  and 
that  there  would  be  more  space  for  one  of  the 
two  in  another  Place. 

It  may  have  been  the  Devil  who  arranged  the 
thing,  but  the  fact  of  the  case  is  that  Losson  had 
for  a  long  time  been  worrying  Simmons  in  an 
aimless  way.  It  gave  him  occupation.  The  two 
had  their  cots  side  by  side,  and  would  sometimes 
spend  a  long  afternoon  swearing  at  each  other; 
but  Simmons  was  afraid  of  Losson  and  dared  not 
challenge  him  to  a  fight.  He  thought  over  the 
words  in  the  hot  still  nights,  and  half  the  hate  he 
felt  toward  Losson  he  vented  on  the  wretched 
punkah-coolie. 

Losson  bought  a  parrot  in  the  bazar,  and  put 
it  into  a  little  cage,  and  lowered  the  cage  into  the 
cool  darkness  of  a  well,  and  sat  on  the  well-curb, 
shouting  bad  language  down  to  the  parrot.  He 
taught  it  to  say:  "Simmons,  ye  so-oor,"  which 
means  swine,  and  several  other  things  entirely 
unfit  for  publication.  He  was  a  big  gross  man, 
and  he  shook  like  a  jelly  wheri  the  parrot  had 
the  sentence  correctly.  Simmons,  however, 
shook  with  rage,  for  all  the  room  were  laughing 
at  him — the  parrot  was  such  a  disreputable  puff 
of  green  feathers  and  it  looked  so  human  when 
it  chattered.  Losson  used  to  sit,  swinging  his 
fat  legs,  on  the  side  of  the  cot,  and  ask  the  par- 
rot what  it  thought  of  Simmons.  The  parrot 


164  In  the  Matter  of  a  Private 

would  answer:  "  Simmons,  ye  so-oor."  "  Good 
boy,"  Losson  used  to  say,  scratching  the  parrot's 
head;  "ye  'ear  that,  Sim  ?"  And  Simmons  used 
to  turn  over  on  his  stomach  and  make  answer: 
"  I  'ear.  Take  'eedyou  don't  'ear  something  one 
of  these  days." 

In  the  restless  nights,  after  he  had  been  asleep 
all  day,  fits  of  blind  rage  came  upon  Simmons 
and  held  him  till  he  trembled  all  over,  while  he 
thought  in  how  many  different  ways  he  would 
slay  Losson.  Sometimes  he  would  picture  him- 
self trampling  the  life  out  of  the  man,  with 
heavy  ammunition-boots,  and  at  others  smashing 
in  his  face  with  the  butt,  and  at  others  jumping 
on  his  shoulders  and  dragging  the  head  back  till 
the  neckbone  cracked.  Then  his  mouth  would 
feel  hot  and  fevered,  and  he  would  reach  out  for 
another  sup  of  the  beer  in  the  pannikin. 

But  the  fancy  that  came  to  him  most  frequently 
and  stayed  with  him  longest  Was  one  connected 
with  the  great  roll  .of  fat  under  Lesson's  right 
ear.  He  noticed  it  first  on  a  moonlight  night, 
and  thereafter  it  was  always  before  his  eyes.  It 
was  a  fascinating  roll  of  fat.  A  man  could  get 
his  hand  upon  it  and  tear  away  one  side  of  the 
neck;  or  he  could  place  the  muzzle  of  a  rifle  on 
it  and  blow  away  all  the  head  in  a  flash.  Losson 
had  no  right  to  be  sleek  and  contented  and  well- 
to-do,  when  he,  Simmons,  was  the  butt  of  the 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private  165 

room.  Some  day,  perhaps,  he  would  show 
those  who  laughed  at  the  "Simmons,  yeso-oor" 
joke,  that  he  was  as  good  as  the  rest,  and. held  a 
man's  life  in  the  crook  of  his  forefinger.  When 
Losson  snored,  Simmons  hated  him  more  bitterly 
than  ever.  Why  should  Losson  be  able  to  sleep 
when  Simmons  had  to  stay  awake  hour  after 
hour,  tossing  and  turning  on  the  tapes,  with  the 
dull  liver  pain  gnawing  into  his  right  side  and 
his  head  throbbing  and  aching  after  Canteen  ? 
He  thought  over  this  for  many  many  nights,  and 
the  world  became  unprofitable  to  him.  He  even 
blunted  his  naturally  fine  appetite  with  beer  and 
tobacco;  and  all  the  while  the  parrot  talked  at 
and  made  a  mock  of  him. 

The  heat  continued  and  the  tempers  wore 
away  more  quickly  than  before.  A  Sergeant's 
wife  died  of  heat-apoplexy  in  the  night,  and  the 
rumor  ran  abroad  that  it  was  cholera.  Men  re- 
joiced openly,  hoping  that  it  would  spread  and 
send  them  into  camp.  But  that  was  a  false 
alarm. 

It  was  late  on  a  Tuesday  evening,  and  the  men 
were  waiting  in  the  deep  double  verandas  for 
"Last  Posts,"  when  Simmons  went  to  the  box 
at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  took  out  his  pipe,  and 
slammed  the  lid  down  with  a  bang  that  echoed 
through  the  deserted  barrack  like  the  crack  of  a 
rifle.  Ordinarily  speaking,  the  men  would  have 


1 66  In  the  Matter  of  a  Private 

taken  no  notice;  but  their  nerves  were  fretted  to 
fiddle-strings.  They  jumped  up,  and  three  or 
four  clattered  into  the  barrack-room  only  to  find 
Simmons  kneeling  by  his  box. 

"Ow!  It's  you,  is  it?"  they  said  and  laughed 
foolishly.  ' '  We  thought  'twas  " — 

Simmons  rose  slowly.  If  the  accident  had  so 
shaken  his  fellows,  what  would  not  the  reality 
do? 

"You  thought  it  was — did  you?  And  what 
makes  you  think  ?"  he  said,  lashing  himself  into 
madness  as  he  went  on;  "to  Hell  with  your 
thinking,  ye  dirty  spies." 

"Simmons,  ye  so-oor,  chuckled  the  parrot  in 
the  veranda,  sleepily,  recognizing  a  well-known 
voice.  Now  that  was  absolutely  all. 

The  tension  snapped.  Simmons  fell  back  on 
the  arm-rack  deliberately, — the  men  were  at  the 
far  end  of  the  room, — and  took  out  his  rifle  and 
packet  of  ammunition.  "Don't  go  playing  the 
goat,  Sim!"  said  Losson.  "Put  it  down,"  but 
there  was  a  quaver  in  his  voice.  Another  map 
stooped,  slipped  his  boot  and  hurled  it  at  Sim- 
mons's  head.  The  prompt  answer  was  a  shot 
which,  fired  at  random,  found  its  billet  in  Los- 
son's  throat.  Losson  fell  forward  without  a 
word,  and  the  others  scattered. 

"You  thought  it  was!"  yelled  Simmons. 
"You're  drivin'  me  to  it!  I  tell  you  you're 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private  167 

drivin'  me  to  it!  Get  up,  Losson,  an'  don't  lie 
shammin'  there — you  an'  your  blasted  parrit  that 
druv  me  to  it!" 

But  there  was  an  unaffected  reality  about  Los- 
son's  pose  that  showed  Simmons  what  he  had 
done.  The  men  were  still  clamoring  in  the  ve- 
randa. Simmons  appropriated  two  more  packets 
of  ammunition  and  ran  into  the  moonlight,  mut- 
tering: "I'll  make  a  night  of  it.  Thirty  roun's, 
an'  the  last  for  myself.  Take  you  that,  you 
dogs!" 

He  dropped  on  one  knee  and  fired  into  the 
brown  of  the  men  on  the  veranda,  but  the  bullet 
flew  high,  and  landed  in  the  brickwork  with  a 
vicious  phwit  that  made  some  of  the  younger 
ones  turn  pale.  It  is,  as  musketry  theorists  ob- 
serve, one  thing  to  fire  and  another  to  be  fired  at. 

Then  the  instinct  of  the  chase  flared  up.  The 
news  spread  from  barrack  to  barrack,  and  the 
men  doubled  out  intent  on  the  capture  of  Sim- 
mons, the  wild  beast,  who  was  heading  for  the 
Cavalry  parade-ground,  stopping  now  and  again 
to  send  back  a  shot  and  a  curse  in  the  direction 
of  his  pursuers. 

"I'll  learn  you  to  spy  on  me!"  he  shouted; 
"I'll  learn  you  to  give  me  dorg's  names!  Come 
on  the  'ole  lot  o'  you!  Colonel  John  Anthony 
Deever,  C.B. !" — he  turned  toward  the  Infantry 
Mess  and  shook  his  rifle — "you  think  yourself 


1 68  In  the  Matter  of  a  Private 

the  devil  of  a  man — but  I  tell  you  that  if  you  put 
your  ugly  old  carcass  outside  o'  that  door,  I'll 
make  you  the  poorest-lookin'  man  in  the  army. 
Come*  out,  Colonel  John  Anthony  Deever,  C.B. ! 
Come  out  and  see  me  practiss  on  the  rainge.  I'm 
the  crack  shot  of  the  'ole  bloomjn'  battalion."  In 
proof  of  which  statement  Simmons  fired  at  the 
lighted  windows  of  the  mess-house. 

"Private  Simmons,  E  Comp'ny,  on  the  Cav- 
alry p'rade-ground,  Sir,  with  thirty  rounds,"  said 
a  Sergeant  breathlessly  to  the  Colonel.  "  Shootin' 
right  and  lef,  Sir.  Shot  Private  Losson.  What's 
to  be  done,  Sir?" 

Colonel  John  Anthony  Deever,  C.B.,  sallied 
out,  only  to  be  saluted  by  a  spurt  of  dust  at  his 
feet. 

"Pull  up!  "  said  the  Second  in  Command;  "I 
don't  want  my  step  in  that  way,  Colonel.  He's 
as  dangerous  as  a  mad  dog." 

"Shoot  him  like  one,  then,"  Said  the  Colonel, 
bitterly,  "if  he  won't  take  his  chance.  My  regi- 
ment, too!  If  it  had  been  the  Towheads  I  could 
have  understood." 

Private  Simmons  had  occupied  a  strong  posi- 
tion near  a  well  on  the  edge  of  the  parade- 
ground,  and  was  defying  the  regiment  to  come 
on.  The  regiment  was  not  anxious  to  comply, 
for  there  is  small  honor  in  being  shot  by  a  fel- 
low-private. Only  Corporal  Slane,  rifle  in  hand, 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private  169 

threw  himself  down  on  the  ground,  and  wormed 
his  way  toward  the  well. 

"  Don't  shoot,"  said  he  to  the  men  round  him; 
"like  as  not  you'll  'it  me.  I'll  catch  the  beggar, 
livin'." 

Simmons  ceased  shouting  for  a  while,  and  the 
noise  of  trap-wheels  could  be  heard  across  the 
plain.  Major  Oidyne,  Commanding  the  Horse 
Battery,  was  coming  back  from  a  dinner  in  the 
Civil  Lines;  was  driving  after  his  usual  custom 
— that  is  to  say,  as  fast  as  the  horse  could  go. 

"A  orf'cer!  A  blooming  spangled  orfcer!" 
shrieked  Simmons;  "I'll  make  a  scarecrow  of 
that  orf'cer! "  The  trap  stopped. 

"What's  this?"  demanded  the  Major  of  Gun- 
ners. "  You  there,  drop  your  rifle." 

"  Why,  it's  Jerry  Blazes!  I  ain't  got  no  quarrel 
with  you,  Jerry  Blazes.  Pass  frien',  an'  all's 
well!" 

But  Jerry  Blazes  had  not  the  faintest  intention 
of  passing  a  dangerous  murderer.  He  was,  as 
his  adoring  Battery  swore  long  and  fervently, 
without  knowledge  of  fear,  and  they  were  surely 
the  best  judges,  for  Jerry  Blazes,  it  was  notori- 
ous, had  done  his  possible  to  kill  a  man  each 
time  the  Battery  went  out. 

He  walked  toward  Simmons,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  rushing  him,  and  knocking  him  down. 

"Don't  make  me  do  it,  Sir,"  said  Simmons; 


170  In  the  Matter  of  a  Private 

"  I  ain't  got  nothing  agin  you.  Ah !  you  would  ? " 
— the  Major  broke  into  a  run — "  Take  that  then!  " 

The  Major  dropped  with  a  bullet  through  his 
shoulder,  and  Simmons  stood  over  him.  He  had 
lost  the  satisfaction  of  killing  Losson  in  the  de- 
sired way:  but  here  was  a  helpless  body  to  his 
hand.  Should  he  slip  in  another  cartridge,  and 
blow  off  the  head,  or  with  the  butt  smash  in  the 
white  faee  ?  He  stopped  to  consider,  and  a  cry 
went  up  from  the  far  side  of  the  parade-ground : 
"  He's  killed  Jerry  Blazes!  "  But  in  the  shelter  of 
the  well-pillars  Simmons  was  safe,  except  when 
he  stepped  out  to  fire.  "I'll  blow  yer 'andsome 
'ead  off,  Jerry  Blazes,"  said  Simmons,  reflectively. 
"Six  an'  three  is  nine  an'  one  is  ten,  an'  that 
leaves  me  another  nineteen,  an'  one  for  myself." 
He  tugged  at  the  string  of  the  second  packet  of 
ammunition.  Corporal  Slane  crawled  out  of  the 
shadow  of  a  bank  into  the  moonlight. 

"I  see  you!"  said  Simmons.'  "Come  a  bit 
furder  on  an'  I'll  do  for  you." 

"I'm  comin',"  said  Corporal  Slane,  briefly; 
"you've  done  a  bad  day's  work,  Sim.  Come 
out  'ere  an'  come  back  with  me." 

"Come  to," — laughed  Simmons,  sending  a 
cartridge  home  with  his  thumb.  "Not  before 
I've  settled  you  an'  Jerry  Blazes." 

The  Corporal  was  lying  at  full  length  in  the 
dust  of  the  parade-ground,  a  rifle  under  him. 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private  171 

Some  of  the  less-cautious  men  in  the  distance 
shouted:  "  Shoot  'im!  Shoot  'im,  Slane!  " 

"You  move  'and  or  foot,  Slane,"  said  Sim- 
mons, "an'  I'll  kick  Jerry  Blazes'  'ead  in,  and 
shoot  you  after." 

"I  ain't  movin',"  said  the  Corporal,  raising  his 
head;  "you  daren't  'it  a  man  on  'is  legs.  Let  go 
o'  Jerry  Blazes  an'  come  out  o'  that  with  your 
fistes.  Come  an'  'it  me.  You  daren't,  you 
bloomin'  dog-shooter  1" 

"I  dare." 

"You  lie,  you  man-sticker.  You  sneakin', 
Sheeny  butcher,  you  lie.  See  there!"  Slane 
kicked  the  rifle  away,  and  stood  up  in  the  peril 
of  his  life.  "Come  on,  now!" 

The  temptation  was  more  than  Simmons  could 
resist,  for  the  Corporal  in  his  white  clothes  offered 
a  perfect  mark. 

"  Don't  misname  me,"  shouted  Simmons,  fir- 
ing as  he  spoke.  The  shot  missed,  and  the 
shooter,  blind  with  rage,  threw  his  rifle  down 
and  rushed  at  Slane  from  the  protection  of  the 
well.  Within  striking  distance,  he  kicked  sav- 
agely at  Slane's  stomach,  but  the  weedy  Cor- 
poral knew  something  of  Simmons's  weakness, 
and  knew,  too,  the  deadly  guard  for  that  kick. 
Bowing  forward  and  drawing  up  his  right  leg 
till  the  heel  of  the  right  foot  was  set  some  three 
inches  above  the  inside  of  the  left  knee-cap,  he 


172  In  the  Matter  of  a  Private 

met  the  blow  standing  on  one  leg — exactly  as 
Gonds  stand  when  they  meditate — and  ready  for 
the  fall  that  would  follow.  There  was  an  oath, 
the  Corporal  fell  over  to  his  own  left  as  shinbone 
met  shinbone,  and  the  Private  collapsed,  his  right 
leg  broken  an  inch  above  the  ankle. 

"  'Pity  you  don't  know  that  guard,  Sim,"  said 
Slane,  spitting  out  the  dust  as  he  rose.  Then 
raising  his  voice — "Come  an'  take  him  orf.  I've 
bruk  'is  leg."  This  was  not  strictly  true,  for  the 
Private  had  accomplished  his  own  downfall,  since 
it  is  the  special  merit  of  that  leg-guard  that  the 
harder  the  kick  the  greater  the  kicker's  discom- 
fiture. 

Slane  walked  to  Jerry  Blazes  and  hung  over 
him  with  ostentatious  anxiety,  while  Simmons, 
weeping  with  pain,  was  carried  away.  "'Ope 
you  ain't  'urt  badly,  Sir,"  said  Slane.  The  Major 
had  fainted,  and  there  was  an  ugly,  ragged  hole 
through  the  top  of  his  arm.  Slane  knelt  down 
and  murmured:  "  S'elp  me,  I  believe 'e's  dead. 
Well,  if  that  ain't  my  blooming  luck  all  over!" 

But  the  Major  was  destined  to  lead  his  Battery 
afield  for  many  a  long  day  with  unshaken  nerve. 
He  was  removed,  and  nursed  and  petted  into 
convalescence,  while  the  Battery  discussed  the 
wisdom  of  capturing  Simmons,  and  blowing 
him  from  a  gun.  They  idolized  their  Major, 
and  his  reappearance  on  parade  brought  about 


In  the  Matter  of  a  Private  173 

a  scene  nowhere  provided  for  in  the  Army  Reg- 
ulations. 

Great,  too,  was  the  glory  that  fell  to  Slane's 
share.  The  Gunners  would  have  made  him 
drunk  thrice  a  day  for  at  least  a  fortnight.  Even 
the  Colonel  of  his  own  regiment  complimented 
him  upon  his  coolness,  and  the  local  paper  called 
him  a  hero.  These  things  did  not  puff  him  up. 
When  the  Major  offered  him  money  and  thanks, 
the  virtuous  Corporal  took  the  one  and  put  aside 
the  other.  But  he  had  a  request  to  make  and 
prefaced  it  with  many  a  "Beg  y'  pardon,  Sir." 
Could  the  Major  see  his  way  to  letting  the  Slane- 
M'Kenna  wedding  be  adorned  by  the  presence  of 
four  Battery  horses  to  pull  a  hired  barouche  ?  The 
Major  could,  and  so  could  the  Battery.  Excess- 
ively so.  It  was  a  gorgeous  wedding. 


"Wot  did  I  do  it  for?"  said  Corporal  Slane. 
"  For  the  'orses  o'  course.  Jhansi  ain't  a  beauty 
to  look  at,  but  I  wasn't  goin'  to  'ave  a  hired  turn- 
out. Jerry  Blazes  ?  If  I  'adn't  'a'  wanted  some- 
thing, Sim  might  ha'  blowed  Jerry  Blazes'  bloom- 
ing 'ead  into  Hirish  stew  for  aught  I'd  'a'  cared." 

And  they  hanged  Private  Simmons — hanged 
him  as  high  as  Haman  in  hollow  square  of  the 
regiment;  and  the  Colonel  said  it  was  Drink;  and 
the  Chaplain  was  sure  it  was  the  Devil;  and  Sim- 


174  /»  the  Matter  of  a  Private 

mons  fancied  it  was  both,  but  he  didn't  know, 
and  only  hoped  his  fate  would  be  a  warning  to 
his  companions;  and  half  a  dozen  "intelligent 
publicists  "  wrote  six  beautiful  leading  articles  on 
"The  Prevalence  of  Crime  in  the  Army." 

But  not  a  soul  thought  of  comparing  the 
"  bloody-minded  Simmons  "  to  the  squawking, 
gaping  schoolgirl  with  which  this  story  opens. 


THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS  OF  PAGETT,  M.  P. 


THE  ENLIGHTENMENTS  OF 
PAGETT,  M.P. 

"  Because  half  a  dozen  grasshoppers  under  a  fern  make  the 
field  ring  with  their  importunate  chink  while  thousands  of 
great  cattle,  reposed  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  British  oak, 
chew  the  cud  and  are  silent,  pray  do  not  imagine  that  those 
who  make  the  noise  are  the  only  inhabitants  of  the  field  —  that, 
of  course,  they  are  many  in  number  —  or  that,  after  all,  they  are 
other  than  the  little,  shrivelled,  meagre,  hopping,  though  loud 
and  troublesome  insects  of  the  hour."  —  Burke:  "Reflections 
on  the  Revolution  in  France." 


were  sitting  in  the  veranda  of  "the 
1  splendid  palace  of  an  Indian  Pro-Consul"; 
surrounded  by  all  the  glory  and  mystery  of  the 
immemorial  East.  In  plain  English  it  was  a  one- 
storied,  ten-roomed,  whitewashed,  mud-roofed 
bungalow,  set  in  a  dry  garden  of  dusty  tamarisk 
trees  and  divided  from  the  read  by  a  low  mud 
wall.  The  green  parrots  screamed  overhead  as 
they  flew  in  battalions  to  the  river  for  their 
morning  drink.  Beyond  the  wall,  clouds  of  fine 
dust  showed  where  the  cattle  and  goats  of  the 
city  were  passing  afield  to  graze*  The  remorse- 
less white  light  of  the  winter  sunshine  of  North- 
ern India  lay  upon  everything  and  improved 
177 


178  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P. 

nothing,  from  the  whining  Persian-wheel  by  the 
lawn-tennis  court  to  the  long  perspective  of  level 
road  and  the  blue,  domed  tombs  of  Mohammedan 
saints  just  visible  above  the  trees. 

"A  Happy  New  Year,"  said  Orde  to  his  guest. 
"  It's  the  first  you've  ever  spent  out  of  England, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes.  'Happy  New  Year,"  said  Pagett,  smil- 
ing at  the  sunshine.  "What  a  divine  climate 
you  have  here!  Just  think  of  the  brown  cold  fog 
hanging  over  London  now! "  And  he  rubbed  his 
hands. 

It  was  more  than  twenty  years  since  he  had 
last  seen  Orde,  his  schoolmate,  and  their  paths  in 
the  world  had  divided  early.  The  one  had  quit- 
ted college  to  become  a  cog-wheel  in  the  ma- 
chinery of  the  great  Indian  Government;  the 
other,  more  blessed  with  goods,  had  been 
whirled  into  a  similar  position  in  the  English 
scheme.  Three  successive  elections  had  not  af- 
fected Pagett's  position  with  a  loyal  constitu- 
ency, and  he  had  grown  insensibly  to  regard 
himself  in  some  sort  as  a  pillar  of  the  Empire, 
whose  real  worth  would  be  known  later  on. 
After  a  few  years  of  conscientious  attendance  at 
many  divisions,  after  newspaper  battles  innu- 
merable and  the  publication  of  interminable  cor- 
respondence, and  more  hasty  oratory  than  in  his 
calmer  moments  he  cared  to  think  upon,  it 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  179 

occurred  to  him,  as  it  had  occurred  to  many  of 
his  fellows  in  Parliament,  that  a  tour  to  India 
would  enable  him  to  sweep  a  larger  lyre  and  ad- 
dress himself  to  the  problems  of  Imperial  ad- 
ministration with  a  firmer  hand.  Accepting, 
therefore,  a  general  invitation  extended  to  him 
by  Orde  some  years  before,  Pagett  had  taken 
ship  to  Karachi,  and  only  over-night  had  been 
received  with  joy  by  the  Deputy-Commissioner 
of  Amara.  They  had  sat  late,  discussing  the 
changes  and  chances  of  twenty  years,  recalling 
the  names  of  the  dead,  and  weighing  the  futures 
of  the  living,  as  is  the  custom  of  men  meeting 
after  intervals  of  action. 

Next  morning  they  smoked  the  after  breakfast 
pipe  in  the  veranda,  still  regarding  each  other 
curiously,  Pagett,  in  a  light  grey  frock-coat  and 
garments  much  too  thin  for  the  time  of  the  year, 
and  a  puggried  sun-hat  carefully  and  wonder- 
fully made.  Orde  in  a  shooting  coat,  riding 
breeches,  brown  cowhide  boots  with  spurs,  and 
a  battered  flax  helmet.  He  had  ridden  some 
miles  in  the  early  morning  to  inspect  a  doubtful 
river  dam.  The  men's  faces  differed  as  much  as 
their  attire.  Orde's  worn  and  wrinkled  about 
the  eyes,  and  grizzled  at  the  temples,  was  the 
harder  and  more  square  of  the  two,  and  it  was 
with  something  like  envy  that  the  owner  looked 
at  the  comfortable  outlines  of  Pagett's  blandly 


i8o  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  MR 

receptive  countenance,  the  clear  skin,  the  un- 
troubled eye,  and  the  mobile,  clean-shaved  lips. 

"And  this  is  India!"  said  Pagett  for  the  twen- 
tieth time,  staring  long  and  intently  at  the  grey 
feathering  of  the  tamarisks. 

"One  portion  of  India  only.  It's  very  much 
like  this  for  300  miles  in  every  direction.  By 
the  way,  now  that  you  have  rested  a  little— I 
wouldn't  ask  the  old  question  before — what 
d'you  think  of  the  country  ?" 

"Tis  the  most  pervasive  country  that  ever  yet 
was  seen.  I  acquired  several  pounds  of  your 
country  coming  up  from  Karachi.  The  air  is 
heavy  with  it,  and  for  miles  and  miles  along  that 
distressful  eternity  of  rail  there's  no  horizon  to 
show  where  air  and  earth  separate." 

"  Yes.  It  isn't  easy  to  see  truly  or  far  in  India. 
But  you  had  a  decent  passage  out,  hadn't  you  ?" 

"Very  good  on  the  whole.  Your  Anglo-In- 
dian may  be  unsympathetic  about  one's  political 
views;  but  he  has  reduced  ship  life  to  a  science." 

"The  Anglo-Indian  is  a  political  orphan,  and  if 
he's  wise  he  won't  be  in  a  hurry  to  be  adopted 
by  your  party  grandmothers.  But  how  were 
your  companions  unsympathetic?" 

"Well,  there  was  a  man  called  Dawlishe,  a 
judge  somewhere  in  this  country  it  seems,  and  a 
capital  partner  at  whist  by  the  way,  and  when  I 
wanted  to  talk  to  him  about  the  progress  of  India 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  181 

in  a  political  sense  (Orde  hid  a  grin,  which  might 
or  might  not  have  been  sympathetic),  the  National 
Congress  movement,  and  other  things  in  which, 
as  a  Member  of  Parliament,  I'm  of  course  in- 
terested, he  shifted  the  subject,  and  when  I  once 
cornered  him,  he  looked  me  calmly  in  the  eye, 
and  said:  'That's  all  Tommy  Rot.  Come  and 
have  a  game  at  Bull.'  You  may  laugh;  but  that 
isn't  the  way  to  treat  a  great  and  important 
question;  and,  knowing  who  I  was,  well,  I 
thought  it  rather  rude,  don't  you  know;  and  yet 
Dawlishe  is  a  thoroughly  good  fellow." 

"Yes;  he's  a  friend  of  mine,  and  one  of  the 
straightest  men  I  know.  I  suppose,  like  many 
Anglo-Indians,  he  felt  it  was  hopeless  to  give 
you  any  just  idea  of  any  Indian  question  without 
the  documents  before  you,  and  in  this  case  the 
documents  you  want  are  the  country  and  the 
people." 

"  Precisely.  That  was  why  i  came  straight  to 
you,  bringing  an  open  mind  to  bear  on  things. 
I'm  anxious  to  know  what  popular  feeling  in 
India  is  really  like  y'know,  now  that  it  has 
wakened  into  political  life.  The  National  Con- 
gress, in  spite  of  Dawlishe,  must  have  caused 
great  excitement  among  the  masses  ?  " 

"On  the  contrary,  nothing  could  be  more 
tranquil  than  the  state  of  popular  feeling;  and  as 
to  *v:itement,  the  people  would  as  soon  be  ex- 


i8a  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,   M.P. 

cited  over  the  '  Rule  of  Three  '  as  over  the  Con- 
gress." 

"Excuse  me,  Orde,  but  do  you  think  you  are 
a  fair  judge?  Isn't  the  official  Anglo-Indian 
naturally  jealous  of  any  external  influences  that 
might  move  the  masses,  and  so  much  opposed  to 
liberal  ideas,  truly  liberal  ideas,  that  he  can 
scarcely  be  expected  to  regard  a  popular  move- 
ment with  fairness  ?" 

"What  did  Dawlishe  say  about  Tommy  Rot? 
Think  a  moment,  old  man.  You  and  I  were 
brought  up  together;  taught  by  the  same  tutors, 
read  the  same  books,  lived  the  same  life,  and 
thought,  as  you  may  remember,  in  parallel  lines. 
/  come  out  here,  learn  new  languages,  and  work 
among  new  races;  while  you,  more  fortunate, 
remain  at  home.  Why  should  I  change  my 
mind — our  mind — because  I  change  my  sky? 
Why  should  I  and  the  few  hundred  Englishmen 
in  my  service  become  unreasonable,  prejudiced 
fossils,  while  you  and  your  newer  friends  alone 
remain  bright  and  open-minded?  You  surely 
don't  fancy  civilians  are  members  of  a  Primrose 
League  ?  " 

"Of  course  not,  but  the  mere  position  of  an 
English  official  gives  him  a  point  of  view  which 
cannot  but  bias  his  mind  on  this  question." 
Pagett  moved  his  knee  up  and  down  a  little  un- 
easily as  he  spoke. 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  183 

"  That  sounds  plausible  enough,  but,  like  more 
plausible  notions  on  Indian  matters,  I  believe  it's 
a  mistake.  You'll  find  when  you  come  to  con- 
sult the  unofficial  Briton  that  our  fault,  as  a  class 
— I  speak  of  the  civilian  now — is  rather  to  mag- 
nify the  progress  that  has  been  made  toward 
liberal  institutions.  It  is  of  English  origin,  such 
as  it  is,  and  the  stress  of  our  work  since  the 
Mutiny — only  thirty  years  ago — has  been  in  that 
direction.  No,  I  think  you  will  get  no  fairer  or 
more  dispassionate  view  of  the  Congress  busi- 
ness than  such  men  as  I  can  give  you.  But  I 
may  as  well  say  at  once  that  those  who  know 
most  of  India,  from  the  inside,  are  inclined  to 
wonder  at  the  noise  our  scarcely  begun  experi- 
ment makes  in  England." 

"  But  surely  the  gathering  together  of  Congress 
delegates  is  of  itself  a  new  thing." 

"There's  nothing  new  under  the  sun.  When 
Europe  was  a  jungle  half  Asia  flocked  to  the 
canonical  conferences  of  Buddhism;  and  for 
centuries  the  people  have  gathered  at  Puri,  Hurd- 
war,  Trimbak,  and  Benares  in  immense  numbers. 
A  great  meeting,  what  you  call  a  mass  meeting, 
is  really  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  popular  of 
Indian  institutions.  In  the  case  of  the  Congress 
meetings,  the  only  notable  fact  is  that  the  priests 
of  the  altar  are  British,  not  Buddhist,  Jain  or 
Brahmanical,  and  that  the  whole  thing  is  a  British 


184  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P. 

contrivance  kept  alive  by  the  efforts  of  Messrs 
Hume,  Eardley,  Norton;  and  Digby." 

"You  mean  to  say,  then,  it's  not  a  spontane- 
ous movement  ?  " 

"What  movement  was  ever  spontaneous  in 
any  true  sense  of  the  word  ?  This  seems  to  be 
more  factitious  than  usual.  You  seem  to  know 
a  great  deal  about  it;  try  it  by  the  touchstone  of 
subscriptions,  a  coarse  but  fairly  trustworthy 
criterion,  and  there  is  scarcely  the  color  of  money 
in  it.  The  delegates  write  from  England  that 
they  are  out  of  pocket  for  working  expenses, 
raijway  fares,  and  stationery — the  mere  paste- 
board and  scaffolding  of  their  show.  It  is,  in 
fact,  collapsing  from  mere  financial  inanition." 

"  But  you  cannot  deny  that  the  people  of  India, 
who  are,  perhaps,  too  poor  to  subscribe,  are 
mentally  and  morally  moved  by  the  agitation," 
Pagett  insisted. 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  ^o'deny.  The  na- 
tive side  of  the  movement  is  the-  work  of  a 
limited  class,  a  microscopic  minority,  as  Lord 
Dufferin  described  it,  when  compared  with  the 
people  proper,  but  still  a  very  interesting  class, 
seeing  that  it  is  of  our  own  creation.  It  is  com- 
posed almost  entirely  of  those  of  the  literary  or 
clerkly  castes  who  have  received  an  English  edu- 
cation." 

"Surely   that's   a  very   important   class.     Its 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  185 

members  must  be  the  ordained  leaders  of  popular 
thought." 

"Anywhere  else  they  might  be  leaders,  but 
they  have  no  social  weight  in  this  topsy-turvy 
land,  and  though  they  have  been  employed  in 
clerical  work  for  generations  they  have  no  prac- 
tical knowledge  of  affairs.  A  ship's  clerk  is  a 
useful  person,  but  he  is  scarcely  the  captain;  and 
an  orderly-room  writer,  however  smart  he  may 
be,  is  not  the  colonel.  You  see,  the  writer  class 
in  India  has  never  till  now  aspired  to  anything 
like  command.  It  wasn't  allowed  to.  The  In- 
dian gentleman,  for  thousands  of  years  past,  has 
resembled  Victor  Hugo's  noble  : 

•  Un  vrai  sire 
Chatelain 
Laisse  ecrire 
Le  vilain. 
Sa  main  digne 
Quand  il  signe 
Egratigne 
Le  velin.' 

And  the  little  egratignures  he  most  likes  to  make 
have  been  scored  pretty  deeply  by  the  sword." 

"  But  this  is  childish  and  mediaeval  non- 
sense! " 

"  Precisely;  and  from  your,  or  rather  our,  point 
of  view  the  pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword.  In 
this  country  it's  otherwise.  The  fault  lies  in  our 


186  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P. 

Indian   balances,   not  yet  adjusted  to  civilized 
weights  and  measures." 

"Well,  at  all  events,  this  literary  class  represent 
the  natural  aspirations  and  wishes  of  the  people 
at  large,  though  it  may  not  exactly  lead  them, 
and,  in  spite  of  all  you  say,  Orde,  I  defy  you  to 
find  a  really  sound  English  Radical  who  would 
not  sympathize  with  those  aspirations." 

Pagett  spoke  with  some  warmth,  and  he  had 
scarcely  ceased  when  a  well-appointed  dog-cart 
turned  into  the  compound  gates,  and  Orde  rose 
saying: 

"Here  is  Edwards,  the  Master  of  the  Lodge  I 
neglect  so  diligently,  come  to  talk  about  accounts, 
I  suppose." 

As  the  vehicle  drove  up  under  the  porch  Pagett 
also  rose,  saying  with  the  trained  effusion  born  of 
much  practice: 

"  But  this  is  also  my  friend,  my  old  and  valued 
friend  Edwards.  I'm  delighted  to  see  you.  I 
knew  you  were  in  India,  but  not  exactly  where.'' 

"Then  it  isn't  accounts,  Mr.  Edwards,"  said 
Orde,  cheerily. 

"  Why,  no,  sir  ;  I  heard  Mr.  Pagett  was  coming, 
and  as  our  works  were  closed  for  the  New  Year 
1  thought  I  would  drive  over  and  see  him." 

"A  very  happy  thought.  Mr.  Edwards,  you 
may  not  know,  Orde,  was  a  leading  member  of 
our  Radical  Club  at  Switchton  when  1  was  be- 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  187 

ginning  political  life,  and  I  owe  much  to  his 
exertions.  There's  no  pleasure  like  meeting  an 
old  friend,  except,  perhaps,  making  a  new  one. 
I  suppose,  Mr.  Edwards,  you  stick  to  the  good 
old  cause  ?*" 

"Well,  you  see,  sir,  things  are  different  out 
here.  There's  precious  little  one  can  find  to  say 
against  the  Government,  which  was  the  main  of 
our  talk  at  home,  and  them  that  do  say  things  are 
not  the  sort  o'  people  a  man  who  respects  him- 
self would  like  to  be  mixed  up  with.  There  are 
no  politics,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  in  India. 
It's  all  work." 

"Surely  you  are  mistaken,  my  good  friend. 
Why  I  have  come  all  the  way  from  England  just  to 
see  the  working  of  this  great  National  movement." 

"  I  don't  know  where  you're  going  to  find  the 
nation  as  moves  to  begin  with,  and  then  you'll 
be  hard  put  to  it  to  find  what  they  are  moving 
about.  It's  like  this,  sir,"  said  Edwards,  who  had 
not  quite  relished  being  called  "  my  good  friend." 
"They  haven't  got  any  grievance — nothing  to  hit 
with,  don't  you  see,  sir;  and  then  there's  not 
much  to  hit  against,  because  the  Government  is 
more  like  a  kind  of  general  Providence,  directing 
an  old-established  state  of  things,  than  that  at 
borne,  where  there's  something  new  thrown 
down  for  us  to  fight  about  every  three  months." 

"You  are  probably,  in  your  workshops,  full  of 


1 88  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,   M.P. 

English  mechanics,  out  of  the  way  of  learning 
what  the  masses  think." 

"  I  don't  know  so  much  about  that.  There  are 
four  of  us  English  foremen,  and  between  seven 
and  eight  hundred  native  fitters,  smiths,  car- 
penters, painters,  and  such  like." 

"And  they  are  full  of  the  Congress,  of 
course  ?  " 

"Never  hear  a  word  of  it  from  year's  end  to 
year's  end,  and  I  speak  the  talk,  too.  But  I 
wanted  to  ask  how  things  are  going  on  at  home 
— old  Tyler  and  Brown  and  the  rest?" 

"We  will  speak  of  them  presently,  but  your 
account  of  the  indifference  of  your  men  surprises 
me  almost  as  much  as  your  own.  I  fear  you  are 
a  backslider  from  the  good  old  doctrine,  Edwards." 
Pagett  spoke  as  one  who  mourned  the  death  of  a 
near  relative. 

"Not  a  bit,  sir,  but  I  should  be  if  I  took  up 
with  a  parcel  of  baboos,  pleaders,  and  school- 
boys, as  never  did  a  day's  work  in  their  lives, 
and  couldn't  if  they  tried.  And  if  you  was  to 
poll  us  English  railway  men,  mechanics,  trades- 
people, and  the  like  of  that  all  up  and  down  the 
country  from  Peshawur  to  Calcutta,  you  would 
find  us  mostly  in  a  tale  together.  And  yet  you 
know  we're  the  same  English  you  pay  some 
respect  to  at  home  at  'lection  time,  and  we  have 
the  pull  o'  knowing  something  about  it." 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  189 

"This  is  very  curious,  but  you  will  let  me  come 
and  see  you,  and  perhaps  you  will  kindly  show 
me  the  railway  works,  and  we  will  talk  things 
over  at  leisure.  And  about  all  old  friends  and 
old  times,"  added  Pagett,  detecting  with  quick 
insight  a  look  of  disappointment  in  the  mechanic's 
face. 

Nodding  briefly  to  Orde,  Edwards  mounted  his 
dog-cart  and  drove  off. 

"  It's  very  disappointing,"  said  the  Member  to 
Orde,  who,  while  his  friend  discoursed  with 
Edwards,  had  been  looking  over  a  bundle  of 
sketches  drawn  on  grey  paper  in  purple  ink, 
brought  to  him  by  a  Chuprassee. 

"Don't  let  it  trouble  you,  old  chap,"  said  Orde, 
sympathetically.  ' '  Look  here  a  moment,  here  are 
some  sketches  by  the  man  who  made  the  carved 
wood  screen  you  admired  so  much  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  wanted  a  copy  of,  and  the  artist  him- 
self is  here  too." 

"A  native?"  said  Pagett. 

"Of  course,"  was  the  reply,  "  Bishen  Singh  is 
his  name,  and  he  has  two  brothers  to  help  him. 
When  there  is  an  important  job  to  do,  the  three 
go  into  partnership,  but  they  spend  most  of  their 
time  and  all  their  money  in  litigation  over  an  in- 
heritance, and  I'm  afraid  they  are  getting  involved. 
Thoroughbred  Sikhs  of  the  old  rock,  obstinate, 
touchy,  bigoted,  and  cunning,  but  good  men  for 


190  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,   M.P. 

all  that.  Here  is  Bishen  Singh— shall  we  ask  him 
about  the  Congress  ?  " 

But  Bishen  Singh,  who  approached  with  a  re- 
spectful salaam,  has  never  heard  of  it,  and  he 
listened  with  a  puzzled  face  and  obviously  feigned 
interest  to  Orde's  account  of  its  aims  and  objects, 
finally  shaking  his  vast  white  turban  with  great 
significance  when  he  learned  that  it  was  pro- 
moted by  certain  pleaders  named  by  Orde,  and 
by  educated  natives.  He  began  with  labored  re- 
spect to  explain  how  he  was  a  poor  man  with 
no  concern  in  such  matters,  which  were  all  under 
the  control  of  God,  but  presently  broke  out  of 
Urdu  into  familiar  Punjabi,  the  mere  sound  of 
which  had  a  rustic  smack  of  village  smoke-reek 
and  plough-tail,  as  he  denounced  the  wearers  of 
white  coats,  the  jugglers  with  words  who  filched 
his  field  from  him,  the  men  whose  backs  were 
never  bowed  in  honest  work;  and  poured  iron- 
ical scorn  on  the  Bengali.  He 'and  one  of  his 
brothers  had  seen  Calcutta,  and  being  at  work 
there  had  Bengali  carpenters  given  to  them  as 
assistants. 

"  Those  carpenters ! "  said  Bishen  Singh.  ' '  Black 
apes  were  more  efficient  workmates,  and  as  for 
the  Bengali  babu — tchick!"  The  guttural  click 
needed  no  interpretation,  but  Orde  translated  the 
rest,  while  Pagett  gazed  with  interest  at  the 
wood-carver. 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  191 

"  He  seems  to  have  a  most  illiberal  prejudice 
against  the  Bengali,"  said  the  M.P. 

"Yes,  it's  very  sad  that  for  ages  outside  Bengal 
there  should  be  so  bitter  a  prejudice.  Pride  of 
race,  which  also  means  race-hatred,  is  the  plague 
and  curse  of  India  and  it  spreads  far,"  Orde 
pointed  with  his  riding-whip  to  the  large  map 
of  India  on  the  veranda  wall. 

"See!  I  begin  with  the  North,"  said  he. 
"There's  the  Afghan,  and,  as  a  highlander,  he 
despises  all  the  dwellers  in  Hindoostan — with 
the  exception  of  the  Sikh,  whom  he  hates  as 
cordially  as  the  Sikh  hates  him.  The  Hindu 
loathes  Sikh  and  Afghan,  and  the  Rajput — that's 
a  little  lower  down  across  this  yellow  blot  of 
desert — has  a  strong  objection,  to  put  it  mildly, 
to  the  Maratha  who,  by  the  way,  poisonously 
hates  the  Afghan.  Let's  go  North  a  minute. 
The  Sindhi  hates  everybody  I've  mentioned. 
Very  good,  we'll  take  less  warlike  races.  The 
cultivator  of  Northern  India  domineers  over  the 
man  in  the  next  province,  and  the  Behari  of 
the  Northwest  ridicules  the  Bengali.  They  are 
all  at  one  on  that  point.  I'm  giving  you  merely 
the  roughest  possible  outlines  of  the  facts,  of 
course." 

Bishen  Singh,  his  clean  cut  nostrils  still  quiver- 
ing, watched  the  large  sweep  of  the  whip  as  it 
traveled  from  the  frontier,  through  Sindh,  the 


192  The  Enlightenments  of  Pageit,   M.P. 

Punjab  and  Rajputana,  till  it  rested  by  the  valley 
of  the  Jumna. 

"Hate — eternal  and  inextinguishable  hate,"  con- 
cluded Orde,  flicking  the  lash  of  the  whip  across 
the  large  map  from  East  to  West  as  he  sat  down. 
"  Remember  Canning's  advice  to  Lord  Granville, 
'  Never  write  or  speak  of  Indian  things  without 
looking  at  a  map.'  " 

Pagett  opened  his  eyes,  Orde  resumed.  "And 
the  race-hatred  is  only  a  part  of  it.  What's  really 
the  matter  with  Bishen  Singh  is  class-hatred, 
which,  unfortunately,  is  even  more  intense  and 
more  widely  spread.  That's  one  of  the  little 
drawbacks  of  caste,  which  some  of  your  recent 
English  writers  find  an  impeccable  system." 

The  wood-carver  was  glad  to  be  recalled  to  the 
business  of  his  craft,  and  his  eyes  shone  as  he 
received  instructions  for  a  carved  wooden  door- 
way for  Pagett,  which  he  promised  should  be 
splendidly  executed  and  despatched  to  England 
in  six  months.  It  is  an  irrelevant  detail,  but  in 
spite  of  Orde's  reminders,  fourteen  months  elapsed 
before  the  work  was  finished.  Business  over, 
Bishen  Singh  hung  about,  reluctant  to  take  his 
leave,  and  at  last  joining  his  hands  and  approach- 
ing Orde  with  bated  breath  and  whispering 
humbleness,  said  he  had  a  petition  to  make. 
Orde's  face  suddenly  lost  all  trace  of  expression. 
"  Speak  on,  Bishen  Singh,"  said  he,  and  the 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  193 

carver  in  a  whining  tone  explained  that  his  case 
against  his  brothers  was  fixed  for  hearing  before 
a  native  judge  and — here  he  dropped  his  voice 
still  lower  till  he  was  summarily  stopped  by 
Orde,  who  sternly  pointed  to  the  gate  with  an 
emphatic  Begone! 

Bishen  Singh,  showing  but  little  sign  of  dis- 
composure, salaamed  respectfully  to  the  friends 
and  departed. 

Pagett  looked  inquiry;  Orde  with  complete  re- 
covery of  his  usual  urbanity,  replied:  "  It's  noth- 
ing, only  the  old  story,  he  wants  his  ca^e  to  be 
tried  by  an  English  judge — they  all  do  that — but 
when  he  began  to  hint  that  the  other  side  were 
in  improper  relations  with  the  native  judge  I  had 
to  shut  him  up.  Gunga  Ram,  the  man  he  wanted 
to  make  insinuations  about,  may  not  be  very 
bright;  but  he's  as  honest  as  daylight  on  the 
bench.  But  that's  just  what  one  can't  get  a  na- 
tive to  believe." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  to  say  these  people  pre- 
fer to  have  their  cases  tried  by  English  judges  ?  " 

"Why,  certainly." 

Pagett  drew  a  long  breath.  "I  didn't  know 
that  before."  At  this  point  a  phaeton  entered  the 
compound,  and  Orde  rose  with  "  Confound  it, 
there's  old  Rasul  Ali  Khan  come  to  pay  one  of 
his  tiresome  duty  calls.  I'm  afraid  we  shall  never 
get  through  our  little  Congress  discussion." 


194  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,   M.P. 

Pagett  was  an  almost  silent  spectator  of  the 
grave  formalities  of  a  visit  paid  by  a  punctilious 
old  Mahommedan  gentleman  to  an  Indian  official; 
and  was  much  impressed  by  the  distinction  of 
manner  and  fine  appearance  of  the  Mohammedan  . 
landholder.  When  the  exchange  of  polite  banal- 
ities came  to  a  pause,  he  expressed  a  wish  to 
learn  the  courtly  visitor's  opinion  of  the  National 
Congress. 

Orde  reluctantly  interpreted,  and  with  a  smile 
which  even  Mohammedan  politeness  could  not 
save  from  bitter  scorn,  Rasul  Ali  Khan  intimated 
that  he  knew  nothing  about  it  and  cared  still  less. 
It  was  a  kind  of  talk  encouraged  by  the  Govern- 
ment for  some  mysterious  purpose  of  its  own, 
and  for  his  own  part  he  wondered  and  held  his 
peace. 

Pagget  was  far  from  satisfied  with  this,  and 
wished  to  have  the  old  gentleman's  opinion  on 
the  propriety  of  managing  all  Indian  affairs  on 
the  basis  of  an  elective  system. 

Orde  did  his  best  to  explain,  but  it  was  plain 
the  visitor  was  bored  and  bewildered.  Frankly, 
he  didn't  think  much  of  committees;  they  had  a 
Municipal  Committee  at  Lahore  and  had  elected 
a  menial  servant,  an  orderly,  as  a  member.  He 
had  been  informed  of  this  on  good  authority, 
and  after  that,  committees  had  ceased  to  interest 
him.  But  all  was  according  to  the  rule  of  Gov- 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  195 

ernment,  and,  please  God,  it  was  all  for  the 
best. 

"What  an  old  fossil  it  is!"  cried  Pagett,  as 
Orde  returned  from  seeing  his  guest  to  the  door; 
"just  like  some  old  blue-blooded  hidalgo  of 
Spain.  What  does  he  really  think  of  the  Con- 
gress after  all,  and  of  the  elective  system  ?" 

"  Hates  it  all  like  poison.  When  you  are  sure 
of  a  majority,  election  is  a  fine  system;  but  you 
can  scarcely  expect  the  Mahommedans,  the  most 
masterful  and  powerful  minority  in  the  country, 
to  contemplate  their  own  extinction  with  joy. 
The  worst  of  it  is  that  he  and  his  co-religionists, 
who  are  many,  and  the  landed  proprietors,  also, 
of  Hindu  race,  are  frightened  and  put  out  by  this 
election  business  and  by  the  importance  we  have 
bestowed  on  lawyers,  pleaders,  writers,  and  the 
like,  who  have,  up  to  now,  been  in  abject  sub- 
mission to  them.  They  say  little,  but  after  all 
they  are  the  most  important  fagots  in  the  great 
bundle  of  communities,  and  all  the  glib  bunkum 
in  the  world  would  not  pay  for  their  estrange- 
ment. They  have  controlled  the  land/' 

"But  I  am  assured  that  experience  of  local 
self-government  in  your  municipalities  has  been 
most  satisfactory,  and  when  once  the  principle  is 
accepted  in  your  centres,  don't  you  know,  it  is 
bound  to  spread,  and  these  important — ah'm — 
people  of  yours  would  learn  it  like  the  rest.  I 


196  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P. 

see  no  difficulty  at  all,"  and  the  smooth  lips 
closed  with  the  complacent  snap  habitual  to 
Pagett,  M.P.,  the  "man  of  cheerful  yesterdays 
and  confident  to-morrows." 

Orde  looked  at  him  with  a  dreary  smile. 

"  The  privilege  of  election  has  been  most 
reluctantly  withdrawn  from  scores  of  municipali- 
ties, others  have  had  to  be  summarily  suppressed, 
and,  outside  the  Presidency  towns,  the  actual 
work  done  has  been  badly  performed.  This  is 
of  less  moment,  perhaps — it  only  sends  up  the 
local  death-rates— than  the  fact  that  the  public 
interest  in  municipal  elections,  never  very  strong, 
has  waned,  and  is  waning,  in  spite  of  careful 
nursing  on  the  part  of  Government  servants." 

"Can  you  explain  this  lack  of  interest ?"  said 
Pagett,  putting  aside  the  rest  of  Orde's  remarks. 

"You  may  find  a  ward  of  the  key  in  the  fact 
that  only  one  in  every  thousand  of  our  population 
can  spell.  Then  they  are  infinitely  more  inter- 
ested in  religion  and  caste  questions  than  in  any 
sort  of  politics.  When  the  business  of  mere  ex- 
istence is  over,  their  minds  are  occupied  by  a 
series  of  interests,  pleasures,  rituals,  superstitions, 
and  the  like,  based  on  centuries  of  tradition  and 
usage.  You,  perhaps,  find  it  hard  to  conceive  of 
people  absolutely  devoid  of  curiosity,  to  whom 
the  book,  the  daily  paper,  and  the  printed  speech 
are  unknown,  and  you  would  describe  their  life  as 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  197 

blank.  That's  a  profound  mistake.  You  are  in 
another  land,  another  century,  down  on  the  bed- 
rock of  society,  where  the  family  merely,  and 
not  the  community,  is  all-important.  The  aver- 
age Oriental  cannot  be  brought  to  look  beyond 
his  clan.  His  life,  too,  is  more  complete  and 
self-sufficing,  and  less  sordid  and  low-thoughted 
than  you  might  imagine.  It  is  bovine  and  slow 
in  some  respects,  but  it  is  never  empty.  You 
and  I  are  inclined  to  put  the  cart  before  the  horse, 
and  to  forget  that  it  is  the  man  that  is  elemental, 
not  the  book. 

'  The  corn  and  the  cattle  are  all  my  care, 
And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God.' 

Why  should  such  folk  look  up  from  their  im- 
memorially  appointed  .round  of  duty  and  inter- 
ests to  meddle  with  the  unknown  and  fuss  with 
voting-papers.  How  would  you,  atop  of  all 
your  interests  care  to  conduct  even  one-tenth  of 
your  life  according  to  the  manners  and  customs 
of  the  Papuans,  let's  say  ?  That's  what  it  comes 
to." 

"But  if  they  won't  take  the  trouble  to  vote, 
why  do  you  anticipate  that  Mohammedans,  pro- 
prietors, and  the  rest  would  be  crushed  by  ma- 
jorities of  them  ?  " 

Again  Pagett  disregarded  the  closing  sentence. 

"Because,  though  the  landholders  would  not 


198  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,   M.P. 

move  a  finger  on  any  purely  political  question, 
they  could  be  raised  in  dangerous  excitement  by 
religious  hatreds.  Already  the  first  note  of  this 
has  been  sounded  by  the  people  who  are  trying 
to  get  up  an  agitation  on  the  cow-killing  question, 
and  every  year  there  is  trouble  over  the  Moham- 
medan Muharrum  processions." 

"  But  who  looks  after  the  popular  rights,  being 
thus  unrepresented?" 

"The  Government  of  Her  Majesty  the  Queen, 
Empress  of  India,  in  which,  if  the  Congress  pro- 
moters are  to  be  believed,  the  people  have  an  im- 
plicit trust;  for  the  Congress  circular,  specially 
prepared  for  rustic  comprehension,  says  the 
movement  is  'for  the  remission  of  tax,  the  ad- 
vancement of  Hindustan,  and  the  strengthening 
of  the  British  Government. '  This  paper  is  headed 
in  large  letters — '  MAY  THE  PROSPERITY  OF  THE  EM- 
PRESS OF  INDIA  ENDURE.'  " 

"Really!"  said  Pagett,  "that  shows  some 
cleverness.  But  there  are  things  better  worth 
imitation  in  our  English  methods  of — er — political 
statement  than  this  sort  of  amiable  fraud." 

"  Anyhow,"  resumed  Orde,  "you  perceive  that 
not  a  word  is  said  about  elections  and  the  elec- 
tive principle,  and  the  reticence  of  the  Congress 
promoters  here  shows  they  are  wise  in  their  gen- 
eration." 

"But  the  elective  principle  must  triumph  in 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  199 

the  end,  and  the  little  difficulties  you  seem  to  an- 
ticipate would  give  way  on  the  introduction  of  a 
well-balanced  scheme,  capable  of  indefinite  ex- 
tension." 

"But  is  it  possible  to  devise  a  scheme  which, 
always  assuming  that  the  people  took  any  inter- 
est in  it,  without  enormous  expense,  ruinous 
dislocation  of  the  administration  and  danger  to 
the  public  peace,  can  satisfy  the  aspirations  of 
Mr.  Hume  and  his  following,  and  yet  safeguard 
the  interests  of  the  Mahommedans,  the  landed 
and  wealthy  classes,  the  Conservative  Hindus, 
the  Eurasians,  Parsees,  Sikhs,  Rajputs,  native 
Christians,  domiciled  Europeans  and  others,  who 
are  each  important  and  powerful  in  their  way  ?" 

Pagett's  attention,  however,  was  diverted  to 
the  gate,  where  a  group  of  cultivators  stood  in 
apparent  hesitation. 

"  Here  are  the  twelve  Apostles,  by  Jove! — come 
straight  out  of  Raffaele's  cartoons,"  said  the  M. 
P.,  with  the  fresh  appreciation  of  a  newcomer. 

Orde,  loth  to  be  interrupted,  turned  impatiently 
toward  the  villagers,  and  their  leader,  handing 
his  long  staff  to  one  of  his  companions,  advanced 
to  the  house. 

"It  is  old  Jelloo,  the  Lumberdar,  or  head-man 
of  Pind  Sharkot,  and  a  very  intelligent  man  for  a 
villager." 

The  Jat  farmer  had  removed  his  shoes  and  stood 


2OO  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,   M.P. 

smiling  on  the  edge  of  the  veranda.  His  strongly 
marked  features  glowed  with  russet  bronze,  and 
his  bright  eyes  gleamed  under  deeply  set  brows, 
contracted  by  lifelong  exposure  to  sunshine. 
His  beard  and  moustache  streaked  with  grey 
swept  from  bold  cliffs  of  brow  and  cheek  in  the 
large  sweeps  one  sees  drawn  by  Michael  Angelo, 
and  strands  of  long  black  hair  mingled  with  the 
irregularly  piled  wreaths  and  folds  of  his  turban. 
The  drapery  of  stout  blue  cotton  cloth  thrown 
over  his  broad  shoulders  and  girt  round  his  nar- 
row loins,  hung  from  his  tall  form  in  broadly 
sculptured  folds,  and  he  would  have  made  a  su- 
perb model  for  an  artist  in  search  of  a  patriarch. 

Orde  greeted  him  cordially,  and  after  a  polite 
pause  the  countryman  started  off  with  a  long 
story  told  with  impressive  earnestness.  Orde 
listened  and  smiled,  interrupting  the  speaker  at 
times  to  argue  and  reason  with  him  in  a  tone 
which  Pagett  could  hear  was  kindly,  and  finally 
checking  the  flux  of  words  was  about  to  dismiss 
him,  when  Pagett  suggested  that  he  should  be 
asked  about  the  National  Congress. 

But  Jelloo  had  never  heard  of  it.  He  was  a 
poor  man  and  such  things,  by  the  favor  of  his 
Honor,  did  not  concern  him. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  your  big  friend  that 
he  was  so  terribly  in  earnest?"  asked  Pagett, 
when  he  had  left. 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  201 

"Nothing  much.  He  wants  the  blood  of  the 
people  in  the  next  village,  who  have  had  small- 
pox and  cattle  plague  pretty  badly,  and  by  the 
help  of  a  wizard,  a  currier,  and  several  pigs  have 
passed  it  on  to  his  own  village.  'Wants  to  know 
if  they  can't  be  -run  in  for  this  awful  crime.  It 
seems  they  made  a  dreadful  charivari  at  the  vil- 
lage boundary,  threw  a  quantity  of  spell-bearing 
objects  over  the  border,  a  buffalo's  skull  and 
other  things ;  then  branded  a  chamdr — what  you 
would  call  a  currier — on  his  hinder  parts  and 
drove  him  and  a  number  of  pigs  over  into  Jelloo's 
village.  Jelloo  says  he  can  bring  evidence  to 
prove  that  the  wizard  directing  these  proceedings, 
who  is  a  Sansi,  has  been  guilty  of  theft,  arson, 
cattle-killing,  perjury  and  murder,  but  would 
prefer  to  have  him  punished  for  bewitching  them 
and  inflicting  smallpox." 

"  And  how  on  earth  did  you  answer  such  a 
lunatic?" 

"Lunatic!  the  old  fellow  is  as  sane  as  you  or 
I;  and  he  has  some  ground  of  complaint  against 
those  Sansis.  '  asked  if  he  would  like  a  native 
superintendent  oi  police  with  some  men  to  make 
inquiries,  but  he  objected  on  the  grounds  the  po- 
lice were  rather  worse  than  smallpox  and  crim- 
inal tribes  put  together." 

"Criminal  tribes — er — I  don't  quite  under- 
stand," said  Pagett. 


2O2  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagetl,  M.P. 

"  We  have  in  India  many  tribes  of  people  who 
in  the  slack  anti-British  days  became  robbers,  in 
various  kind,  and  preyed  on  the  people.  They 
are  being  restrained  and  reclaimed  little  by  little, 
and  in  time  will  become  useful  citizens,  but  they 
still  cherish  hereditary  traditions  of  crime,  and 
are  a  difficult  lot  to  deal  with.  By  the  way  what 
about  the  political  rights  of  these  folk  under  your 
schemes  ?  The  country  people  call  them  vermin, 
but  I  suppose  they  would  be  electors  with  the 
rest." 

"Nonsense — special  provision  would  be  made 
for  them  in  a  well-considered  electoral  scheme, 
and  they  would  doubtless  be  treated  with  fitting 
severity,"  said  Pagett,  with  a  magisterial  air. 

"  Severity,  yes — but  whether  it  would  be  fitting 
is  doubtful.  Even  those  poor  devils  have  rights, 
and,  after  all,  they  only  practice  what  they  have 
been  taught." 

"But  criminals,  Orde!" 

"Yes,  criminals  with  codes  and  rituals  of 
crime,  gods  and  godlings  of  crime,  and  a  hun- 
dred songs  and  sayings  in  praise  of  it.  Puzzling, 
isn't  it?" 

"It's  simply  dreadful.  They  ought  to  be  put 
down  at  once.  Are  there  many  of  them  ?" 

"Not  more  than  about  sixty  thousand  in  this 
province,  for  many  of  the  tribes  broadly  described 
as  criminal  are  really  vagabond  and  criminal  only 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  20} 

on  occasion,  while  others  are  being  settled  and 
reclaimed.  They  are  of  great  antiquity,  a  legacy 
from  the  past,  the  golden,  glorious  Aryan  past  of 
Max  Miiller,  Birdwood  and  the  rest  of  your  spin- 
drift philosophers." 

An  orderly  brought  a  card  to  Orde,  who  took 
it  with  a  movement  of  irritation  at  the  interrup- 
tion, and  handed  it  to  Pagett;  a  large  card  with  a 
ruled  border  in  red  ink,  and  in  the  centre  in 
schoolboy  copper  plate,  Mr.  Dina  Nath.  "  Give 
salaam,"  said  the  civilian,  and  there  entered  in 
haste  a  slender  youth,  clad  in  a  closely  fitting 
coat  of  grey  homespun,  tight  trousers,  patent- 
leather  shoes,  and  a  small  black  velvet  cap.  His 
thin  cheek  twitched,  and  his  eyes  wandered  rest- 
lessly, for  the  young  man  was  evidently  nervous 
and  uncomfortable,  though  striving  to  assume  a 
free  and  easy  air. 

"Your  honor  may  perhaps  remember  me,"  he 
said  in  English,  and  Orde  scanned  him  keenly. 

"I  know  your  face  somehow.  You  belonged 
to  the  Shershah  district  I  think,  when  I  was  in 
charge  there?" 

"Yes,  sir,  my  father  is  writer  at  Shershah,  and 
your  honor  gave  me  a  prize  when  1  was  first  in 
the  Middle  School  examination  five  years  ago. 
Since  then  I  have  prosecuted  my  studies,  and  I 
am  now  second  year's  student  in  the  Mission 
College/' 


2O4  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,   M.P. 

"Of  course:  you  are  Kedar  Nath's  son — the 
boy  who  said  he  liked  geography  better  than  play 
or  sugar  cakes,  and  I  didn't  believe  you.  How  is 
your  father  getting  on  ?  " 

"He  is  well,  and  he  sends  his  salaam,  but  his 
circumstances  are  depressed,  and  he  also  is  down 
on  his  luck." 

"  You  learn  English  idioms  at  the  Mission  Col- 
lege, it  seems." 

"Yes,  sir,  they  are  the  best  idioms,  and  my 
father  ordered  me  to  ask  your  honor  to  say  a 
word  for  him  to  the  present  incumbent  of  your 
honor's  shoes,  the  latchet  of  which  he  is  not 
worthy  to  open,  and-who  knows  not  Joseph;  for 
things  are  different  at  Shershah  now,  and  my  fa- 
ther wants  promotion." 

"Your  father  is  a  good  man,  and  I  will  do 
what  I  can  for  him." 

At  this  point  a  telegram  was  handed  to  Orde, 
who,  after  glancing  at  it,  said  he  must  leave  his 
young  friend  whom  he  introduced  to  Pagett,  "  a 
member  of  the  English  House  of  Commons  who 
wishes  to  learn  about  India." 

Orde  had  scarcely  retired  with  his  telegram 
when  Pagett  began : 

"  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  something  of  the 
National  Congress  movement?" 

"Sir,  it  is  the  greatest  movement  of  modern 
times,  and  one  in  which  all  educated  men  like  us 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  205 

must  join.  All  our  students  are  for  the  Con- 
gress." 

"Excepting,  I  suppose,  Mahommedans,  and 
the  Christians  ?  "  said  Pagett,  quick  to  use  his  re- 
cent instruction. 

".These  are  some  mere  exceptions  to  the  uni- 
versal rule." 

"  But  the  people  outside  the  College,  the  work- 
ing classes,  the  agriculturists;  your  father  and 
mother,  for  instance." 

"My  mother,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a 
visible  effort  to  bring  himself  to  pronounce  the 
word,  "has  no  ideas,  and  my  father  is  not  agri- 
culturist, nor  working  class;  he  is  of  the  Kayeth 
caste ;  but  he  had  not  the  advantage  of  a  colle- 
giate education,  and  he  does  not  know  much  of 
the  Congress.  It  is  a  movement  for  the  educated 
young-man  " — connecting  adjective  and  noun  in 
a  sort  of  vocal  hyphen. 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Pagett,  feeling  he  was  a  little 
off  the  rails,  "and  what  are  the  benefits  you  ex- 
pect to  gain  by  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  sir,  everything.  England  owes  its  great- 
ness to  Parliamentary  institutions,  and  we  should 
at  once  gain  the  same  high  position  in  scale  of 
nations.  Sir,  we  wish  to  have  the  sciences,  the 
arts,  the  manufactures,  the  industrial  factories, 
with  steam  engines,  and  other  motive  powers, 
and  public  meetings,  and  debates.  Already  we 


206  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P. 

have  a  debating  club  in  connection  with  the  col- 
lege, and  elect  a  Mr.  Speaker.  Sir,  the  progress 
must  come.  You  also  are  a  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment and  worship  the  great  Lord  Ripon,"  said 
the  youth,  breathlessly,  and  his  black  eyes  flashed 
as  he  finished  his  commaless  sentences. 

"Well,"  said  Pagett,  drily,  "it  has  not  yet  oc- 
curred to  me  to  worship  his  Lordship,  although 
I  believe  he  is  a  very  worthy  man,  and  I  am  not 
sure  that  England  owes  quite  all  the  things  you 
name  to  the  House  of  Commons.  You  see,  my 
young  friend,  the  growth  of  a  nation  like  ours  is 
slow,  subject  to  many  influences,  and  if  you  have 
read  your  history  aright "  — 

"Sir,  I  know  it  all — all!  Norman  Conquest, 
Magna  Charta,  Runnymede,  Reformation,  Tu- 
dors,  Stuarts,  Mr.  Milton  and  Mr.  Burke,  and  I 
have  read  something  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  and 
Gibbon's  'Decline  and  Fall,'  Reynolds'  'Myste- 
ries of  the  Court,'  and"  — 

Pagett  felt  like  one  who  had  pulled  the  string 
of  a  shower-bath  unawares,  and  hastened  to  stop 
the  torrent  with  a  question  as  to  what  particular 
grievances  of  the  people  of  India  the  attention 
of  an  elected  assembly  should  be  first  directed. 
But  young  Mr.  Dina  Nath  was  slow  to  particular- 
ize. There  were  many,  very  many  demanding 
consideration.  Mr.  Pagett  would  like  to  hear  of 
one  or  two  typical  examples.  The  Repeal  of  the 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  207 

Arms  Act  was  at  last  named,  and  the  student 
learned  for  the  first  time  that  a  license  was  nec- 
essary before  an  Englishman  could  carry  a  gun 
in  England.  Then  natives  of  India  ought  to  be 
allowed  to  become  Volunteer  Riflemen  if  they 
chose,  and  the  absolute  equality  of  the  Oriental 
with  his  European  fellow-subject  in  civil  status 
should  be  proclaimed  on  principle,  and  the  Indian 
Army  should  be  considerably  reduced.  The  stu- 
dent was  not,  however,  prepared  with  answers 
to  Mr.  Pagett's  mildest  questions  on  these  points, 
and  he  returned  to  vague  generalities,  leaving  the 
M.P.  so  much  impressed  with  the  crudity  of  his 
views  that  he  was  glad  on  Orde's  return  to  say 
good-bye  to  his  "very  interesting  "  young  friend. 
"  What  do  you  think  of  young  India  ?  "  asked 
Orde. 

"  Curious,  very  curious — and  callow." 
"And  yet,"  the  civilian  replied,  "one  can 
scarcely  help  sympathizing  with  him  for  his 
mere  youth's  sake.  The  young  orators  of  the 
Oxford  Union  arrived  at  the  same  conclusions 
and  showed  doubtless  just  the  same  enthusiasm. 
If  there  were  any  political  analogy  between  India 
and  England,  if  the  thousand  races  of  this  Empire 
were  one,  if  there  were  any  chance  even  of  their 
learning  to  speak  one  language,  if,  in  short,  India 
were  a  Utopia  of  the  debating-room,  and  not  a 
real  land,  this  kind  of  talk  might  be  worth  listen- 


2o8  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P. 

ing  to,  but  it  is  all  based  on  false  analogy  and 
ignorance  of  the  facts." 

"  But  he  is  a  native  and  knows  the  facts." 

"He  is  a  sort  of  English  schoolboy,  but  mar- 
ried three  years,  and  the  father  of  two  weaklings, 
and  knows  less  than  most  English  schoolboys. 
You  saw  all  he  is  and  knows,  and  such  ideas  as 
he  has  acquired  are  directly  hostile  to  the  most 
cherished  convictions  of  the  vast  majority  of  the 
people." 

"  But  what  does  he  mean  by  saying  he  is  a 
student  of  a  mission  college.  Is  he  a  Christian  ?  " 

"  He  meant  just  what  he  said,  and  he  is  not  a 
Christian,  nor  ever  will  he  be.  Good  people  in 
America,  Scotland,  and  England,  most  of  whom 
would  never  dream  of  collegiate  education  for 
their  own  sons,  are  pinching  themselves  to  bestow 
it  in  pure  waste  on  Indian  youths.  Their  scheme 
is  an  oblique,  subterranean  attack  on  heathenism ; 
the  theory  being  that  with  the  jam  of  secular  edu- 
cation, leading  to  a  University  degree,  the  pill  of 
moral  or  religious  instruction  may  be  coaxed 
down  the  heathen  gullet." 

"But  does  it  succeed;  do  they  make  con- 
verts ?  " 

"They  make  no  converts,  for  the  subtle 
Oriental  swallows  the  jam  and  rejects  the  pill; 
but  the  mere  example  of  the  sober,  righteous, 
and  godly  lives  of  the  principals  and  professors, 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  209 

who  are  most  excellent  and  devoted  men,  must 
have  a  certain  moral  value.  Yet,  as  Lord  Lans- 
downe  pointed  out  the  other  day,  the  market  is 
dangerously  overstocked  with  graduates  of  our 
Universities  who  look  for  employment  in  the  ad- 
ministration. An  immense  number  are  employed, 
but  year  by  year  the  college  mills  grind  out  in- 
creasing lists  of  youths  foredoomed  to  failure  and 
disappointment,  and  meanwhile,  trade,  manu- 
factures, and  the  industrial  arts  are  neglected,  and 
in  fact  regarded  with  contempt  by  our  new 
literary  mandarins  in  posse." 

"  But  our  young  friend  said  he  wanted  steam- 
engines  and  factories,"  said  Pagett. 

"Yes,  he  would  like  to  direct  such  concerns. 
He  wants  to  begin  at  the  top,  for  manual  labor  is 
held  to  be  discreditable,  and  he  would  never 
defile  his  hands  by  the  apprenticeship  which  the 
architects,  engineers,  and  manufacturers  of  Eng- 
land cheerfully  undergo;  and  he  would  be  aghast 
to  learn  that  the  leading  names  of  industrial 
enterprise  in  England  belonged  a  generation  or 
two  since,  or  now  belong,  to  men  who  wrought 
with  their  own  hands.  And,  though  he  talks 
glibly  of  manufacturers,  he  refuses  to  see  that 
the  Indian  manufacturer  of  the  future  will  be  the 
despised  workman  of  the  present.  It  was  pro- 
posed, for  example,  a  few  weeks  ago,  that  a 
certain  municipality  in  this  province  should 


2io  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,   M.P. 

establish  an  elementary  technical  school  for  the 
sons  of  workmen.  The  stress  of  the  opposition 
to  the  plan  came  from  a  pleader  who  owed  all  he 
had  to  a  college  education  bestowed  on  him 
gratis  by  Government  and  missions.  You  would 
have  fancied  some  fine  old  crusted  Tory  squire  of 
the  last  generation  was  speaking.  '  These  peo- 
ple,' he  said,  'want  no  education,  for  they  learn 
their  trades  from  their  fathers,  and  to  teach  a 
workman's  son  the  elements  of  mathematics  and 
physical  science  would  give  him  ideas  above  his 
business.  They  must  be  kept  in  their  place,  and 
it  was  idle  to  imagine  that  there  was  any  science 
in  wood  or  iron  work.'  And  he  carried  his  point. 
But  the  Indian  workman  will  rise  in  the  social 
scale  in  spite  of  the  new  literary  caste." 

"  In  England  we  have  scarcely  begun  to  realize 
that  there  is  an  industrial  class  in  this  country, 
yet,  I  suppose,  the  example  of  men,  like  Edwards 
for  instance,  must  tell,"  said  Pagett,  thought- 
fully. 

"That  you  shouldn't  know  much  about  it  is 
natural  enough,  for  there  are  but  few  sources  of 
information.  India  in  this,  as  in  other  respects, 
is  like  a  badly  kept  ledger — not  written  up  to 
date.  And  men  like  Edwards  are,  in  reality, 
missionaries,  who  by  precept  and  example  are 
teaching  more  lessons  than  they  know.  Only  a 
few,  however,  of  their  crowds  of  subordinates 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  211 

seem  to  care  to  try  to  emulate  them,  and  aim  at 
individual  advancement;  the  rest  drop  into  the 
ancient  Indian  caste  groove." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Pagett. 

"Well,  it  is  found  that  the  new  railway  and 
factory  workmen,  the  fitter,  the  smith,  the  en- 
gine-driver, and  the  rest  are  already  forming 
separate  hereditary  castes.  You.  may  notice  this 
down  at  Jamalpur  in  Bengal,  one  of  the  oldest 
railway  centres ;  and  at  other  places,  and  in  other 
industries,  they  are  following  the  same  inexor- 
able Indian  law." 

"  Which  means  ?  "  — queried  Pagett. 

"It  means  that  the  rooted  habit  of  the  people 
is  to  gather  in  small  self-contained,  self-sufficing 
family  groups  with  no  thought  or  care  for  any 
interests  but  their  own — a  habit  which  is  scarcely 
compatible  with  the  right  acceptation  of  the  elec- 
tive principle." 

"Yet  you  must  admit,  Orde,  that  though  our 
young  friend  was  not  able  to  expound  the  faith 
that  is  in  him,  your  Indian  army  is  too  big." 

"Not  nearly  big  enough  for  its  main  purpose. 
And,  as  a  side  issue,  there  are  certain  powerful 
minorities  of  fighting  folk  whose  interests  an 
Asiatic  Government  is  bound  to  consider. 
Arms  is  as  much  a  means  of  livelihood  as  civil 
employ  under  Government  and  law.  And  it 
would  be  a  heavy  strain  on  British  bavonets  to 


212  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P. 

hold  down  Sikhs,  Jats,  Bilochis,  Rohillas,  Raj- 
puts, Bhils,  Dogras,  Pathans,  and  Gurkhas  to 
abide  by  the  decisions  of  a  numerical  majority 
opposed  to  their  interests.  Leave  the  '  numerical 
majority '  to  itself  without  the  British  bayonets — 
a  flock  of  sheep  might  as  reasonably  hope  to 
manage  a  troop  of  collies." 

"This  complaint  about  excessive  growth  of 
the  army  is  akin  to  another  contention  of  the 
Congress  party.  They  protest  against  the  mal- 
versation of  the  whole  of  the  moneys  raised  by 
additional  taxes  as  a  Famine  Insurance  Fund  to 
other  purposes.  You  must  be  aware  that  this 
special  Famine  Fund  has  all  been  spent  on  fron- 
tier roads  and  defences  and  strategic  railway 
schemes  as  a  protection  against  Russia." 

"But  there  was  never  a  special  famine  fund 
raised  by  special  taxation  and  put  by  as  in  a  box. 
No  sane  administrator  would  dream  of  such  a 
thing.  In  a  time  of  prosperity  a  finance  minis- 
ter, rejoicing  in  a  margin,  proposed  to  annually 
apply  a  million  and  a  half  to  the  construction  of 
railways  and  canals  for  the  protection  of  districts 
liable  to  scarcity,  and  to  the  reduction  of  the  an- 
nual loans  for  public  works.  But  times  were 
not  always  prosperous,  and  the  finance  minister 
had  to  choose  whether  he  would  hang  up  the  in- 
surance scheme  for  a  year  or  impose  fresh  taxa- 
tion. When  a  farmer  hasn't  got  the  little  sur- 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  213 

plus  he  hoped  to  have  for  buying  a  new  wagon 
and  draining  a  low-lying  field  corner,  you  don't 
accuse  him  of  malversation,  if  he  spends  what 
he  has  on  the  necessary  work  of  the  rest  of  his 
farm." 

A  clatter  of  hoofs  was  heard,  and  Orde  looked 
up  with  vexation,  but  his  brow  cleared  as  a 
horseman  halted  under  the  porch. 

"Hello,  Orde!  just  looked  in  to  ask  if  you  are 
coming  to  polo  on  Tuesday:  we  want  you  badly 
to  help  to  crumple  up  the  Krab  Bokhar  team." 

Orde  explained  that  he  had  to  go  out  into  the 
District,  and  while  the  visitor  complained  that 
though  good  men  wouldn't  play,  duffers  were 
always  keen,  and  that  his  side  would  probably 
be  beaten,  Pagett  rose  to  look  at  his  mount,  a 
red,  lathered  Biloch  mare,  with  a  curious  lyre- 
like  incurving  of  the  ears.  "  Quite  a  little  thor- 
oughbred in  all  other  respects,"  said  the  M.P., 
and  Orde  presented  Mr.  Reginald  Burke,  Man- 
ager of  the  Sind  and  Sialkote  Bank  to  his  friend. 

"  Yes,  she's  as  good  as  they  make  'em,  and 
she's  all  the  female  I  possess  and  spoiled  in  con- 
sequence, aren't  you,  old  girl?"  said  Burke, 
patting  the  mare's  glossy  neck  as  she  backed 
and  plunged. 

"  Mr.  Pagett,"  said  Orde,  "  has  been  asking  me 
about  the  Congress.  What  is  your  opinion?" 
Burke  turned  to  the  M.P.  with  a  frank  smile. 


214  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P. 

"Well,  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  sir,  I  should 
say,  Damn  the  Congress,  but  then  I'm  no  politi- 
cian, but  only  a  business  man." 

"  You  find  it  a  tiresome  subject  ?" 

"  Yes,  it's  all  that,  and  worse  than  that,  for  this 
kind  of  agitation  is  anything  but  wholesome  for 
the  country." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?" 

"It  would  be  a  long  job  to  explain,  and  Sara 
here  won't  stand,  but  you  know  how  sensitive 
capital  is,  and  how  timid  investors  are.  All  this 
sort  of  rot  is  likely  to  frighten  them,  and  we 
can't  afford  to  frighten  them.  The  passengers 
aboard  an  Ocean  steamer  don't  feel  reassured 
when  the  ship's  way  is  stopped,  and  they  hear 
the  workmen's  hammers  tinkering  at  the  en- 
gines down  below.  The  old  Ark's  going  on  all 
right  as  she  is,  and  only  wants  quiet  and  room 
to  move.  Them's  my  sentiments,  and  those  of 
some  other  people  who  have  to  do  with  money 
and  business." 

"Then  you  are  a  thick-and-thin  supporter  of 
the  Government  as  it  is." 

"Why,  no!  The  Indian  Government  is  much 
too  timid  with  its  money — like  an  old  maiden 
aunt  of  mine — always  in  a  funk  about  her  in- 
vestments. They  don't  spend  half  enough  on 
railways  for  instance,  and  they  are  slow  in  a 
general  way,  and  ought  to  be  made  to  sit  up  in 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  215 

all  that  concerns  the  encouragement  of  private 
enterprise,  and  coaxing  out  into  use  the  millions 
of  capital  that  lie  dormant  in  the  country." 

The  mare  was  dancing  with  impatience,  and 
Burke  was  evidently  anxious  to  be  off,  so  the 
men  wished  him  good-bye. 

"Who  is  your  genial  friend  who  condemns 
both  Congress  and  Government  in  a  breath?" 
asked  Pagett,  with  an  amused  smile. 

"Just  now  he  is  Reggie  Burke,  keener  on  polo 
than  on  anything  else,  but  if  you  go  to  the  Sind 
and  Sialkote  Bank  to-morrow  you  would  find 
Mr.  Reginald  Burke  a  very  capable  man  of  busi- 
ness, known  and  liked  by  an  immense  constitu- 
ency North  and  South  of  this." 

5 'Do  you  think  he  is  right  about  the  Govern- 
ment's want  of  enterprise  ?  " 

"  I  should  hesitate  to  say.  Better  consult  the 
merchants  and  chambers  of  commerce  in  Cawn- 
pore,  Madras,  Bombay,  and  Calcutta.  But  though 
these  bodies  would  like,  as  Reggie  puts  it,  to 
make  Government  sit  up,  it  is  an  elementary  con- 
sideration in  governing  a  country  like  India,  which 
must  be  administered  for  the  benefit  of  the  people 
at  large,  that  the  counsels  of  those  who  resort  to 
it  for  the  sake  of  making  money  should  be  ju- 
diciously weighed  and  not  allowed  to  overpower 
the  rest.  They  are  welcome,  guests  here,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  but  it  has  been  found  best  to 


216  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M,P. 

restrain  their  influence.  Thus  the  rights  of  plan- 
tation laborers,  factory  operatives,  and  the  like, 
have  been  protected,  and  the  capitalist,  eager  to 
get  on,  has  not  always  regarded  Government 
action  with  favor.  It  is  quite  conceivable  that 
under  an  elective  system  the  commercial  com- 
munities of  the  great  towns  might  find  means  to 
secure  majorities  on  labor  questions  and  on  fi- 
nancial matters." 

"They  would  act  at  least  with  intelligence  and 
consideration." 

"Intelligence,  yes;  but  as  to  consideration, 
who  at  the  present  moment  most  bitterly  resents 
the  tender  solicitude  of  Lancashire  for  the  wel- 
fare and  protection  of  the  Indian  factory  oper- 
ative ?  English  and  native  capitalists  running 
cotton  mills  and  factories." 

"But  is  the  solicitude  of  Lancashire  in  this 
matter  entirely  disinterested  ?  " 

"It  is  no  business  of  mine  to  say.  I  merely 
indicate  an  example  of  how  a  powerful  commer- 
cial interest  might  hamper  a  Government  intent 
in  the  first  place  on  the  larger  interests  of  hu- 
manity." 

Orde  broke  off  to  listen  a  moment.  "There's 
Dr.  Lathrop  talking  to  my  wife  in  the  drawing- 
room,"  said  he. 

"Surely  not;  that's  a  lady's  voice,  and  if  my 
ears  don't  deceive  me,  an  American." 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  317 

"  Exactly,  Dr.  Eva  McCreery  Lathrop,  chief  of 
the  new  Women's  Hospital  here,  and  a  very 
good  fellow  forbye.  Good-morning,  Doctor," 
he  said,  as  a  graceful  figure  came  out  on  the  ve- 
randa, "you  seem  to  be  in  trouble.  I  hope  Mrs. 
Orde  was  able  to  help  you." 

"Your  wife  is  real  kind  and  good,  I  always 
come  to  her  when  I'm  in  a  fix,  but  I  fear  it's 
more  than  comforting  I  want." 

"You  work  too  hard  and  wear  yourself  out," 
said  Orde,  kindly.  "  Let  me  introduce  my  friend, 
Mr.  Pagett,  just  fresh  from  home,  and  anxious  to 
learn  his  India.  You  could  tell  him  something  of 
that  more  important  half  of  which  a  mere  man 
knows  so  little." 

"  Perhaps  I  could  if  I'd  any  heart  to  do  it,  but 
I'm  in  trouble,  I've  lost  a  case,  a  case  that  was 
doing  well,  through  nothing  in  the  world  but  in- 
attention on  the  part  of  a  nurse  I  had  begun  to 
trust.  And  when  I  spoke  only  a  small  piece  of 
my  mind  she  collapsed  in  a  whining  heap  on  the 
floor.  It  is  hopeless!  " 

The  men  were  silent,  for  the  blue  eyes  of  the 
lady  doctor  were  dim.  Recovering  herself  she 
looked  up  with  a  smile,  half  sad,  half  humorous, 
"And  I  am  in  a  whining  heap,  too;  but  what 
phase  of  Indian  life  are  you  particularly  interested 
in,  sir?" 

' '  Mr.  Pagett  intends  to  study  the  political  as- 


218  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P. 

pect  of  things  and  the  possibility  of  bestowing 
electoral  institutions  on  the  people." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  as  much  to  the  purpose  to 
bestow  point-lace  collars  on  them  ?  They  need 
many  things  more  urgently  than  votes.  Why 
it's  like  giving  a  bread-pill  for  a  broken  leg." 

"Er — I  don't  quite  follow,"  said  Pagett,  un- 
easily. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  with  this  country  is 
not  in  the  least  political,  but  an  all  round  entan- 
glement of  physical,  social,  and  moral  evils  and 
corruptions,  all  more  or  less  due  to  the  unnatural 
treatment  of  women.  You  can't  gather  figs  from 
thistles,  and  so  long  as  the  system  of  infant  mar- 
riage, the  prohibition  of  the  remarriage  of  wid- 
ows, the  lifelong  imprisonment  of  wives  and 
mothers  in  a  worse  than  penal  confinement,  and 
the  withholding  from  them  of  any  kind  of  edu- 
cation or  treatment  as  rational  beings  continues, 
the  country  can't  advance  a  step.  Half  of  it  is 
morally  dead,  and  worse  than  dead,  and  that's 
just  the  half  from  which  we  have  a  right  to  look 
for  the  best  impulses.  It's  right  here  where  the 
trouble  is,  and  not  in  any  political  considerations 
whatsoever." 

"But  do  they  marry  so  early?"  said  Pagett, 
vaguely. 

"The  average  age  is  seven,  but  thousands  are 
married  still  earlier.  One  result  is  that  girls  of 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  219 

twelve  and  thirteen  have  to  bear  the  burden  of 
wifehood  and  motherhood,  and,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, the  rate  of  mortality  both  for  mothers 
and  children  is  terrible.  Pauperism,  domestic 
unhappiness,  and  a  low  state  of  health  are  only  a 
few  of  the  consequences  of  this.  Then,  when, 
as  frequently  happens,  the  boy-husband  dies 
prematurely,  his  widow  is  condemned  to  worse 
than  death.  She  may  not  re-marry,  must  live  a 
secluded  and  despised  life,  a  life  so  unnatural, 
that  she  sometimes  prefers  suicide ;  more  often 
she  goes  astray.  You  don't  know  in  England 
what  such  words  as  '  infant-marriage,  baby-wife, 
girl-mother,  and  virgin-widow '  mean ;  but  they 
mean  unspeakable  horrors  here." 

"Well,  but  the  advanced  political  party  here 
will  surely  make  it  their  business  to  advocate 
social  reforms  as  well  as  political  ones,"  said 
Pagett. 

"Very  surely  they  will  do  no  such  thing, "said 
the  lady  doctor,  emphatically.  "I  wish  I  could 
make  you  understand.  Why,  even  of  the  funds 
devoted  to  the  Marchioness  of  Dufferin's  organi- 
zation for  medical  aid  to  the  women  of  India,  it 
was  said  in  print  and  in  speech,  that  they  would 
be  better  spent  on  more  college  scholarships  for 
men.  And  in  all  the  advanced  parties'  talk — God 
forgive  them — and  in  all  their  programmes,  they 
carefully  avoid  all  such  subjects.  They  will  talk 


22O  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,   M.P. 

about  the  protection  of  the  cow,  for  that's  an  an- 
cient superstition — they  can  all  understand  that; 
but  the  protection  of  the  women  is  a  new  and 
dangerous  idea."  She  turned  to  Pagett  impul- 
sively : 

"  You  are  a  member  of  the  English  Parliament. 
Can  you  do  nothing  ?  The  foundations  of  their 
life  are  rotten — utterly  and  bestially  rotten.  I 
could  tell  your  wife  things  that  I  couldn't  tell 
you.  I  know  the  life — the  inner  life  that  belongs 
to  the  native,  and  I  know  nothing  else;  and  be- 
lieve me  you  might  as  well  try  to  grow  golden- 
rod  in  a  mushroom-pit  as  to  make  anything  of  a 
people  that  are  born  and  reared  as  these — these 
things  are.  The  men  talk  of  their  rights  and 
privileges.  I  have  seen  the  women  that  bear 
these  very  men,  and  again — may  God  forgive  the 
men!" 

Pagett's  eyes  opened  with  a  large  wonder.  Dr. 
Lathrop  rose  tempestuously. 

"I  must  be  off  to  lecture,"  said  she,  "and  I'm 
sorry  that  I  can't  show  you  my  hospitals;  but 
you  had -better  believe,  sir,  that  it's  more  neces- 
sary for  India  than  all  the  elections  in  creation." 

"That's  a  woman  with  a  mission,  and  no  mis- 
take," said  Pagett,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes;  she  believes  in  her  work,  and  so  do  I," 
said  Orde.  "  I've  a  notion  that  in  the  end  it  will 
be  found  that  the  most  helpful  work  done  for 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  22\ 

India  in  this  generation  was  wrought  by  Lady 
DufTerin  in  drawing  attention — what  work  that 
was,  by  the  way,  even  with  her  husband's  great 
name  to  back  it! — to  the  needs  of  women  here. 
In  effect,  native  habits  and  beliefs  are  an  organ- 
ized conspiracy  against  the  laws  of  health  and 
happy  life — but  there  is  some  dawning  of  hope 
now." 

"  How  d'  you  account  for  the  general  indiffer- 
ence, then  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it's  due  in  part  to  their  fatalism  and 
their  utter  indifference  to  all  human  suffering. 
How  much  do  you  imagine  the  great  province  of 
the  Punjab  with  over  twenty  million  people  and 
half  a  score  rich  towns  has  contributed  to  the 
maintenance  of  civil  dispensaries  last  year? 
About  seven  thousand  rupees." 

"That's  seven  hundred  pounds,"  said  Pagett, 
quickly. 

"I  wish  it  was,"  replied  Orde;  "but  anyway, 
it's  an  absurdly  inadequate  sum,  and  shows  one 
of  the  blank  sides  of  Oriental  character." 

Pagett  was  silent  for  a  long  time.  The  ques- 
tion of  direct  and  personal  pain  did  not  lie  within 
his  researches.  He  preferred  to  discuss  the 
weightier  matters  of  the  law,  and  contented  him- 
self with  murmuring:  "They'll  do  better  later 
on."  Then,  with  a  rush,  returning  to  his  first 
thought : 


222  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P. 

"  But,  my  dear  Orde,  if  it's  merely  a  class 
movement  of  a  local  and  temporary  character, 
how  d'  you  account  for  Bradlaugh,  who  is  at 
least  a  man  of  sense,  taking  it  up  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  champion  of  the  New 
Brahmins  but  what  1  see  in  the  papers.  I  sup- 
pose there  is  something  tempting  in  being  hailed 
by  a  large  assemblage  as  the  representative  of 
the  aspirations  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  millions 
of  people.  Such  a  man  looks  'through  all  the 
roaring  and  the  wreaths,'  and  does  not  reflect 
that  it  is  a  false  perspective,  which,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  hides  the  real  complex  and  manifold 
India  from  his  gaze.  He  can  scarcely  be  ex- 
pected to  distinguish  between  the  ambitions  of 
a  new  oligarchy  and  the  real  wants  of  the  people 
of  whom  he  knows  nothing.  But  it's  strange 
that  a  professed  Radical  should  come  to  be  the 
chosen  advocate  of  a  movement  which  has  for 
its  aim  the  revival  of  an  ancient  tyranny.  Shows 
how  even  Radicalism  can  fall  into  academic 
grooves  and  miss  the  essential  truths  of  its  own 
creed.  Believe  me,  Pagett,  to  deal  with  India 
you  want  first-hand  knowledge  and  experience. 
I  wish  he  would  come  and  live  here  for  a  couple 
of  years  or  so." 

"Is  not  this  Father  an  ad  hominem  style  of 
argument  ?  " 

"Can't  help  it  in  a  case  like  this.    Indeed,  I  am 


The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,  M.P.  223 

not  sure  you  ought  not  to  go  further  and  weigh 
the  whole  character  and  quality  and  upbringing 
of  the  man.  You  must  admit  that  the  monu- 
mental complacency  with  which  he  trotted  out 
his  ingenious  little  Constitution  for  India  showed 
a  strange  want  of  imagination  and  the  sense  of 
humor." 

"No,  I  don't  quite  admit  it,"  said  Pagett. 

"Well,  you  know  him  and  I  don't,  but  that's 
how  it  .strikes  a  stranger."  He  turned  on  his  heel 
and  paced  the  veranda  thoughtfully.  "And, 
after  all,  the  burden  of  the  actual,  daily  unroman- 
tic  toil  falls  on  the  shoulders  of  the  men  out  here, 
and  not  on  his  own.  He  enjoys  all  the  privileges 
of  recommendation  without  responsibility,  and 
we — well,  perhaps,  when  you've  seen  a  little 
more  of  India  you'll  understand.  To  begin  with, 
our  death  rate's  five  times  higher  than  yours — I 
speak  now  for  the  brutal  bureaucrat — and  we 
work  on  the  refuse  of  worked-out  cities  and  ex- 
hausted civilizations,  among  the  bones  of  the 
dead." 

Pagett  laughed.  "  That's  an  epigrammatic  way 
of  putting  it,  Orde." 

"Is  it?  Let's  see,"  said  the  Deputy  Commis- 
sioner of  Amara,  striding  into  the  sunshine 
toward  a  half-naked  gardener  potting  roses.  He 
took  the  man's  hoe,  and  went  to  a  rain-scarped 
bank  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden. 


224  The  Enlightenments  of  Pagett,   M.P. 

"Come  here,  Pagett,"  he  said,  and  cut  at  the 
sun-baked  soil.  After  three  strokes  there  rolled 
from  under  the  blade  of  the  hoe  the  half  of  a 
clanking  skeleton  that  settled  at  Pagett's  feet  in 
an  unseemly  jumble  of  bones.  The  M.P.  drew 
back. 

"Our  houses  are  built  on  cemeteries,"  said 
Orde.  "There  are  scores  of  thousands  of  graves 
within  ten  miles." 

Pagett  was  contemplating  the  skull  with  the 
awed  fascination  of  a  man  who  has  but  little  to 
do  with  the  dead.  "  India's  a  very  curious  place," 
said  he,  after  a  pause. 

"Ah?  You'll  know  all  about  it  in  three 
months,  Come  in  to  lunch,"  said  Orde. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

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